One shots, omakes and deleted scenes
by Daemon Belaerys
Summary: A repository for whatever one shots, omakes or ideas that were written and then scrapped from any of my stories. Usual warnings apply: Snark, Sacrasm, Violence, Sex, Humour, Murphy striking at inopportune times and the usual.
1. Omake 12 The Coward's Way Out

**Disclaimer: Still hiding under my bed so I'm trying to starve it out, I'll tell you if I can catch it.**

 **The coward's way out:**

Theon dry heaved yet again. Leaning over a bucket had been his sole task for the last five hours, ever since he realized that he had given his sister a good fondling, he had even licked clean his fingers afterwards for fucks sake. Not for the first time he cursed Robb for approving and even encouraging Theon's idea to let him go to return to the Iron isles to try and get Balon Greyjoy to join in rebellion. For the first time he wondered if perhaps it wouldn't have been better if Jon had been chosen as King in the North. True Theon may hate the legitimized bastard more than anyone else in the world, and Jon may cause Theon's blood to run cold and scare the shit out of him, but at the same time. If Jon was King, Theon would never had experienced how his sister's cunt tasted, ' _oh gods,'_ he thought as he produced another impressive spray of projectile vomit.

Theon fucking **hated** his life. Half his life he had lived as a hostage in Winterfell, being treated almost as part of the family but never quite like it. Having to live with the fact that a bastard was more loved and well treated by the majority of the Starks and their bannermen over _him_ the Heir to the Iron Islands had vexed him like you wouldn't believe. To make matters worse the bastard constantly showed him up in nearly anything. Riding, fighting, even when it came to whoring around Jon _Snow_ beat him, and most insultingly at all he didn't even have to pay for it, unlike Theon who spent the majority of the generous amount of coin he got as a stipend.

Then upon his return, he molests his sister, gets slapped by his father and mocked by his uncles, hopefully things would improve soon. He had at least been invited to the war council his father would hold soon. Despondently he realized that he was in for another round of mocking, and he started to curse his penchant for extravagant clothing this time. His 'best' outfit had made his family directly question his masculinity and the only thing that differed the rest of his garments from the one he wore on his arrival was the slightly less amount of gold embroidery present. Now dressed in the least ostentatious outfit he swiftly made his way to his father's solar, spotting Asha and his uncles Aeron and Victarion already there, leant over a table that had a large map of Westeros spread over it.

"Nephew," Victarion greeted him,

"You're late boy," his father snarled.

Asha sniffed slightly and wrinkled her nose in displeasure before smirking at him. "Spent some time vomiting brother? Whatever for?"

Theon clenched his fists as his cheeks reddened. "Fuck you," he spat at her.

"Pah, you did a good enough job of that already, a minute or two more and I'd have you straight on your back."

"Oh gods," Theon whimpered as he ran towards the window, barely opening it in time to vomit again. His business finally done he walked over to the table, trying his best to appear nonchalant to the fact that he had just vomited up whatever bile was left in his stomach. Looking over the map he narrowed his eyes in confusion. The map displaying the North had several pieces representing Ironborn dotted over it. His uncle Victarion was situated at Moat Cailin, while Asha's piece was situated on Deepwood Motte. Pieces representing Houses Harlaw and Drumm were placed further inland at Torrhen's Square, while lastly Theon's piece and several other small pieces representing small lone longships were all scattered about on the Stony Shore.

"Father…" Theon said slowly. "Why in the name of the Gods are our forces poised to strike at the North? The war is in the south against the Lannisters."

"Who said anything about the Lannisters?" Balon said.

"While the Northerners are waging war in the south we'll cut the legs out from under them by conquering the North in their absence," Asha said as if it was evident.

Theon felt cold sweat break out on his body as his mind filled with vivid depictions of _exactly_ Jon Fucking Snow would do to poor Theon once he learnt that Theon had allowed even a single reaver get within a mile of his wife and children. For that matter he doubted said revears would even have the chance to be torn limb from fucking limb by the fucking bastard. Not even the Gods knew what nasty shit Jon's insane Maester had hidden and stored in, and around Moat Cailin, and he felt a sudden pity for whatever fool would be stupid enough to try and take the fortress. "Father, " Theon said with a slow calm voice, as if explaining to a child why he couldn't do something. "Are you that desperate for the Starks to wipe us out?" Theon should have expected the slap, he really should. It still stung like a bitch.

"It's perfect Theon," his uncle Victarion said. "The Northerners have marched off to war, their lands, women and riches are ours for the taking."

"I see…" he said. ' _by the Gods, how dense can my family get?'_ he thought while looking closer at his father. He had always taken more after his mother than his father so he had never questioned it before, but now he wasn't so sure, _'There is no way…no WAY I could have come from his loins,'_ Theon thought surly. "And what is it you intend for me to do then?"

Asha smirked at him. "The Stony Shire is scattered with small fishing villages all over, you are to raid them," no doubt she thought that this would be the most insulting thing possible to task Theon with.

He did not react as they expected. Instead of raging and claiming how this was beneath him, Theon paled significantly and shook with fear.

"Afraid of a few fishing villages nephew?" His uncle Aeron asked.

"YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!" Theon shouted as his hysteria built. "Let me explain to you _exactly_ why this is a tremendously bad fucking idea. FIRST!" he said as he held up a finger. "Robb marched down with an army gathered in all haste, eighteen thousand men, which means that within a month or so he can gather an additional twenty thousand or so at least, or he used to." He paused for breath while raising another finger. "TWO! Thanks to Jon Fucking Stark the Stony Shore ain't so empty anymore after he went North of the wall and somehow managed to forge a peace with the wildlings, the Stony Shore has since become the home of a hundred thousand savage wildling with mammoths and fucking GIANTS…and lastly, if you think Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark were harsh after your pitiful failed Rebellion, I can assure you that Jon Stark will have his vengeance, and he won't rest until the Isles are red with blood and anything or anyone living here lies dead and broken at his feet."

The rest of his family shared disbelieving looks before laughing mockingly at him. "Such a vivid imagination," Balon muttered. "His mother coddled him for too long I think."

Seeing that his family refused to listen Theon turned his back and marched off back to his rooms. He was fucked either way, so seeing how his family had just about disowned him he figured that he might as well fuck them right back. Penning a letter to both Jon and Robb, explaining what was about to happen, while telling Jon to go fuck himself in any way he could express himself on paper. With the letter finished he had it sent to Riverrun by the Maester and then got back to his room. There was no way his father would let him run off now, for that matter he didn't much fancy his chances at a warm welcome either when he got back, especially if he ran into Jon's army of wildlings, giants, mammoths, valemen, dornishmen, Sandor Fucking Clegane and a pride of Direwolfs who were constantly eyeing up Theon's legs, the desire to use them as snacks evident in their amber eyes. No there was only one thing to do. Saying one last prayer for his doomed soul he jumped out the window. Moments later a guard discovered Theon's mangled form shortly after hearing a loud yell of 'FUCK YOU JON STARK'.

 **AN: Well this is the first one. I'll be continuing posting little snippets as I write them. Many/Most of them are ideas that have been churning around in my head for some time. Others are 'deleted scenes' that at one point I thought of using in either of my stories, but eventually decided to shelf. So to make it clear, none of these one shots/omakes are in any way canon in any of my stories unless said otherwise.**

 **Cheers**

 **Manowarrior**


	2. From the Ashes a Dragon pt1

_Disclaimer: My old disclaimer starved to death so I've managed to breed a new one: I do not claim any ownership of this piece nor the works it is inspired from, with the exception of any OC's, they're MINE!_

" _Blah": High Valyrian._

"Blah": Common Tongue.

' _Blah': Thoughts_

 **And from the ashes the Dragon woke.**

 **Castle Black: Ser Alliser.**

Ser Alliser Thorne looked down at the cold bloody corpse of Lord Commander Snow with smug satisfaction. He may be a man of the Watch, but in his heart he had always, and would always remain a Targaryen loyalist. He had held off killing the twice over traitor's bastard as long as he had solely out of respect for Maester Aemon, but Maester Aemon was dead, and Alliser Throne had refused to follow Jon Snow one more day, lest he get them all killed.

"Fetch wood and oil for a pyre," he barked at the other mutineers.

Soon after the men left the blasted direwolf started howling.

"Go in there and kill that wolf," he ordered the others who glanced between themselves.

"The wolf won't be 'appy whi'us after this he won't," one of the older lads who had been a relatively loyal dogsbody for Alliser for years said.

"Fook me," another muttered.

"Ain't no way I'm gonna go inter the same room as that bloody wolf, not me," a third man protested.

"I'll do it," Olly, the young lad who had stabbed Snow in the heart said.

"It's a shame when a lad of two and ten has more guts and bigger balls than the rest of you twats combined," Alliser mocked them just as a few of the men returned with armfuls of wood, straw, branches and oil.

While the rest of the men certainly didn't appreciate Alliser's insults, they let them lie, ' _anyfing to stay away from tha' wolf,'_ more than one man thought.

A quick pyre was hastily cobbled together and Snow was unceremoniously dumped atop of it and oil poured over him afterwards.

"He was my Lord Commander," Ser Alliser started. "And he was the bastard son of a whore and a traitor who would have destroyed the Night's Watch, but now his watch is ended."

"And now his watch is ended," the others muttered.

Dropping the torch onto Jon Snow's chest, several things happened at once. A panicked agonizing scream and accompanying vengeful snarls signified Olly meeting what sounded to be a gruesome end. Flames started to lick over Snow's corpse as wildfire amongst a field of dry grass. The sound of doors slamming open all around them as brothers of the Night's Watch poked their noses out to figure out what all the fuss was about. And lastly the Red Woman was looking towards them with a look of horror in her eyes as she held out her arm as if to try and stop them.

"YOU FOOKIN TRAITORS!" Ser Davis and Dolorous Edd shouted simultaneously

Alliser was about to take control of the situation, truly, he was. But just as he was prepared to shout the others into submission something happened.

The Red Woman groaned as if in pain. Falling to her knees, the entirety of Castle Black watched in shock as the ruby around her neck glowed. The brighter it glowed the older the woman looked until she looked like an ancient crone. As this happened the fire consuming Jon Snow's corpse shone just as strongly and grew to such prominence and intensity that the top of the flames flickered above even the tallest tower in Castle Black. The heat was so unbearable that several men collapsed, even Alliser barely held his tongue as he felt his skin blister all over.

"WHUS 'APPENIN?" Chell, one of the mutineers screamed.

' _Whatever is happening it can't be good,'_ Alliser thought worriedly as the flames grew brighter, until they were so bright that everyone had to avert their eyes. A mere moment later every inhabitant was blown off their feet at the cataclysmic explosion of heat and light.

Waking up, Alliser vaguely noted that not a single speck of snow could be seen inside the castle. A perfect crater fifteen feet across and six feet deep stood where Jon Snow's body had burnt. Of the Red Woman there was no sight, with the exception of her ruby necklace that had cracked in two and rested upon a pile of ashes. The last observation Alliser made was that his fellow mutineers had all been tied up or burnt to ashes if they had stood too close to the pyre. Standing above his fellow mutineers were the friends of the bastard who must have come to their senses first, turning his gaze to the right he was just quick enough to see the sole of Dolorous Edd's right boot introduce itself to his face.

 ***G*R*A*T*U*I*T*O*U*S*L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R*G*R*A*T*U*I*T*O*U*S*L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R*G*R*A*T*U*I*T*O*U*S*L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R**

 **Somewhere: Jon Snow.**

" _Why?"_ Jon whispered as he opened his eyes, only to look around in astonishment. A mere moment ago he had been stabbed numerous times in the chest, finished by his own steward who plunged a dagger into his heart. By that time he had been ready to just give in, the pain so great, and he was _tired_. Tired of his brothers, tired of the Free Folk, tired of this or that argument. Tired of not having a single good night's sleep as dreams of the dead woke him, but instead of rest or seeing his family again he was…here.

' _For that matter, where is here?'_ he thought. Looking around he found could see that he was in a rocky uneven terrain. Hills and rock formations all around. Sand was everywhere, along with the odd bush here or there, and some patches of grass, not to mention the heat of the sun that was boiling down on him. A small tower could be spotted in the distance, perhaps an hour or two of walking from where he stood.

With a target in mind he had barely taken three steps before a bright flash of light from behind him made him turn around.

"Lady Melisandre," he said with a hoarse voice as he averted his eyes. She looked as inhumanly beautiful as always with her crimson eyes and blood red hair, and she was currently clad in nothing but her nameday suit.

"Who are you?" she asked, curiosity and wonder alike tinted her voice.

Jon frowned, he had spoken with her mere hours before. "Jon Snow, My Lady," he told her patiently, perhaps whatever had caused her to end up in the afterlife had made her confused.

' _Impossible,'_ she whispered, before she laughed. She laughed as she hadn't done in years.

"My Lady?" he questioned.

" _Who did you say your mother was 'Jon Snow'?"_

" _My father never told me,"_ Melisandre smiled victoriously as he replied in perfect High Valyrian, likely he had never even noticed that they switched languages. If he replied instinctually in High Valyrian when proffered, the Old Blood was indeed strong in him.

" _Would you like to know?"_ she asked him.

" _How could you know? Did you meet her?"_ he asked her suspiciously.

Melisandre shook her head. " _No, but I've heard the tales, and during my years I have seen enough of your kin from near enough to recognise the truth,"_ she told him, while something showed in her eyes that Jon had never seen before… _pity_.

"Tell me," he sighed, this time replying in the common tongue.

"Lyanna Stark."

Jon gaped, _'surely she isn't suggesting?'_ "How _dare_ you?" he hissed. "My father would _never_ lay with his own sister," Jon was fuming at what she suggested, somewhat due to outrage, but also out of guilt. He had seen both the statue of his aunt Lyanna as well as drawings, and from what people said, Arya was Lyanna come again, and more than one lonely night had been spent dreaming of a far more grown up Arya, _'stop it, that's wrong,'_ he reminded his treacherous mind.

"I can assure you," Melisandre's voice had a definite amused timbre to it. "That if your father had a sister of the right age he would most definitely had lain with her, whether he would still have taken or courted your mother is a mystery."

Jon sighed as he shook his head to try and wake from whatever nightmare he was in, the Red Woman made no sense what so ever, and it was wearing on his already frayed temper. "Speak sense My Lady," he spat, "Enough of your riddles."

Melisandre bowed. "Look at your hair?" she stated simply causing Jon to furrow his brow, of all the things she could ask him, she wanted him to look at his hair.

Still if it would make her start to make sense he might as well indulge her. He should have known better, he dimly noted as he stared in shock at the lock of almost pure _white_ hair with strands of silver amongst them that he held in between his fingers. Frantically he tried to find more locks of hair, all for it to look similar to that first lock he found. Looking down he yelped as he realized for the first time that he was wearing just as little as Melisandre, and that the hair around his cock seemed to match the hair on his head.

"Your father, was Rhaegar Targaryen," Melisandre continued. Thankfully she ignored his sudden embarrassment, and was even helpful or kind enough to not deliberately look at his manhood.

Jon vaguely felt himself collapse to his knees. ' _Why?'_ he asked, ' _why would my father lie to me all these years?'_

"To protect you from the truth," came another voice, and Jon whirled his head around. Where the voice had come from stood an old man. Long snow white hair, with a wrinkled face, one of his eyes were missing, while the remaining one was as red as blood. Slung over his shoulders was a mottled old cloak, an almost perfect copy of the very same cloak Jon had worn until very recently, and even more importantly was that the young man standing beside the older one was someone knew well.

It had been over five years that Jon had last seen him, but his younger brother ' _or is it cousin,'_ would never be a stranger to Jon. First of all, Bran was standing, and looking just as amazed if not more than Jon. He had grown taller, and cut his hair it seemed. Bran who had always had his dark Tully red hair down to his shoulders in a hopeful attempt to imitate Jon, something which had not pleased Bran's Lady Mother.

"BRAN!" Jon shouted as he threw his arms around his younger brother.

"I missed you Jon," Brans sniffled as he clung just as hard to Jon

Reluctantly Jon parted from Bran and looked at the stranger. "What is going on?" Jon demanded.

"You died," the old man said abruptly, and Bran gasped, seeing the horrible wounds on Jon's chest for the first time. The wounds had already scarred over, leaving no less than eight nasty looking scars. "You were supposed to die," the old man continued, causing Bran to narrow his eyes angrily at him. "But the aftermath was not how I had…"

"You **what**?" Bran snarled. "Are you saying that you **deliberately** caused my brother's murder?" that certainly got Jon's eyes to narrow into slits as well and his hand reached for Longclaw, only to snarl at its missing presence.

"Your Brother," the old man started. "Should _never_ gone to the wall in the first place. I did what I **had** to do to free him."

"And how exactly, will killing me make me free?" Jon snarked.

"You are no longer bound to your vows," the old man said succinctly. "And as such free to fulfil your destiny."

"What do you mean destiny? What does all of this have to do with Rhaegar apparently being my father? What the HELL IS GOING ON!" Jon was shouting the last words, and Bran didn't seem to be more in the know than Jon, even Melisandre seemed to be somewhat confused.

The old man looked at Bran before laying his hands on Bran's shoulders. "That is enough for today Brandon Stark," and to Jon's amazement, both Bran and the old man disappeared quite literally from the empty air with the old man returning in the blink of an eye.

"You know the tale of Lightbringer?" he asked Jon and Melisandre.

"Lightbringer was the sword of Azor Ahain," Melisandre said. "Blessed by R'hllor as he drove the still hot blade through the heart of his wife."

Jon nodded in assent, though in the North R'hllor was never mentioned in the tale, but it was known that Azor Ahai had forged the blade by plunging it into the heart of his wife Nissa Nissa to use to defeat the Walkers and beat back the Long Night.

"Wrong," the old man said, and if Jon wasn't mistaken there was a hint of smugness in his tone.

Melisandre certainly seemed to take it as a personal blow as her face screwed up in indignity.

"Lightbringer was never a sword," the old man continued. "Lightbringer was, and always will be a person, a child to be specific."

"Years upon years ago, it was prophesised that the Prince-Who-Was-Promised would be bourn from the line of Aerys and Rhaella, this Prince would be the Song of Ice and Fire, destined to beat back the Long Night. For years Prince Rhaegar believed it to be first himself, and then his son Aegon, but he eventually realized the truth, that the child would have to be born from Ice and Fire both, that is why he sought out Lyanna Stark."

Jon's mouth felt dry like a desert, no matter how much he wanted to deny it he couldn't help but hang on to every word.

"He explained it to your mother, who agreed to his proposal, even knowing her fate," at this the old man seemed both sad and impressed.

"Her…her fate," Jon questioned.

"As with Nissa Nissa, giving birth to Lightbringer would doom her own life, no Maester, woods witch or shadowbinder could have saved your mother, giving creation to such power comes at a price, a price that was extolled even heavier on your father who paid with not only his own life, but the lives of his parents, wife and children."

"What power?" Jon asked, "I have no power, I don't even have a name."

The old man laughed. "No power? You may not have the greensight, but you are most definitely a Warg. When you were but a babe you rode out a plague for weeks that laid down nine and thirty grown men and women in Winterfell, coming out of it without so much as a mark while the others who survived were forever marked by the pox scars. You had the power to, even in death reach out to me. You drew on the power of the Red Priestess to save yourself."

Jon blinked while Melisandre looked at him curiously and even somewhat hungrily. "But, I've never consciously used that power that you speak of, I cannot enter Ghost to see through his eyes, or control his actions.

"Have you ever tried?" the old man asked, to which Jon shook his head. "You have a power that is beyond the ken of mere mortals, even your cousin Brandon whose greensight I've never seen nor heard the like of cannot compare, the blood of Old Valyria and Winter Kings combined is truly a marvel, and once you learn to control it, only then will you be prepared to stand against the Night's King and his armies, and even so it may not be enough."

Jon shook his head in denial. "But I am dead," he said. "I cannot do anything."

"You are not dead," the old man shot back. "You are merely in between, cast adrift on the eddies of time and space, but come, our time is short and there is something you must see before we both return to the real word."

Confused both Jon and Melisandre followed the old man towards the tower in the distance. A tower guarded by three men with white cloaks, facing seven others and as they got closer Jon was shocked to recognise the lead figure of the seven as his father or was it uncle? Ice was gripped in his hands.

"Father," Jon shouted, to no avail, none of the ten men there could hear him, and he doubted that they could be seen either, as neither Jon nor Melisandre could draw their gaze. Melisandre at the very least should have drawn a few appreciative glances.

"I looked for you on the Trident," Ned said to them.

"We were not there," Ser Gerold answered.

"Woe to the Usurper if we had been," said Ser Oswell.

"When King's Landing fell Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were."

"Far away," Ser Gerold said, "or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne and our false brother would burn in seven hells."

"I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege," Ned told them, and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them."

"Our knees do not bend easily," said Ser Arthur Dayne. "Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your Queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him."

"Ser Willem is a good man and true," said Ser Oswell.

"But not of the Kingsguard," Ser Gerold pointed out. "The Kingsguard does not flee."

"Then or now," said Ser Arthur. He donned his helm.

"We swore a vow," explained old Ser Gerold. Ned's companions moved up beside him, with swords in hand. They were seven against three.

"And now it begins," said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.

"No," Ned said with sadness in his voice. "Now it ends.

Even though he knew the outcome, Jon still watched with anxiousness as the fight raged. Ser Arthur was indeed as good as the legends claimed, and Jon could see that he would be lucky if he could have kept up with him, though he felt a small amount of pride that his own skills exceeded what skills his father appeared to have, which confused Jon as he knew that Lord Eddard Stark was the one who had killed Ser Arthur, and as Howland Reed plunged a dagger into Ser Arthur's neck from behind Jon knew why.

To ease the suffering of the greatest Knight Westeros had seen in hundreds if not thousands of years his father picked up the pale blade and in a single stroke removed Ser Arthur's head from the shoulders.

"We must follow," the Old man said, shooing both Jon and Melisandre up the stairs, right behind Ned and Howland until they came to a room with a single bloodstained bed, a pair of maids stood to either side of the bed, a bed which held who the old man and Melisandre claimed to be his mother.

Lyanna Stark was indeed beautiful as most people had proclaimed. There had been those of course who claimed that her death, and the fact that a war had been fought over her had caused people to exaggerate her beauty, but Jon would like to think them wrong.

Even having gone through the rigours of childbirth there was an undeniable beauty in the young woman. While not a 'classical' beauty in the sense that Queen Cersei Lannister was or Margaery Tyrell was rumoured to be, Lyanna Stark had an undeniably wildness to her. Her features were the best that the North could produce, just like Winter could be beautiful it was also deadly, that was the sort of imagery produced by Lyanna Stark.

" _Listen to me Ned_ ," Lyanna spoke with a weakening voice, the pain almost overcoming her. She leant close to whisper to her brother, causing both Jon and Melisandre to do the same. _"His name is Aemon Targaryen, if Robert finds out he'll kill him, you know he will, you have to protect him…promise me Ned,"_ she leant back as her brother accepted a small child into his arms, a child that Jon could see was undeniably him, even so shortly after having been born the babe had the same dark eyes, seeming almost black or dark indigo in the right lighting. "Promise…me…" Lyanna muttered again, her eyes opening and closing at their own accord, the presence behind them, the sparkle that was usually present in anyone's eyes diminishing more every second.

" _I promise_ ," Ned sobbed and Jon felt his heart clench painfully.

Even as the life left her Lyanna, his _mother_ , opened her eyes one last time and Jon _knew_ , he just knew that she could see him, as her eyes seemed to drink in every detail on his face, and he felt himself give a trembling smile as he laid eyes on his mother for the first 'true' time. ' _Be strong my son'_ she whispered so low that no one could hear it, but Jon was good enough at reading her lips, and expression that he knew what she said.

"I will mother," Jon said as he tried in vain to dry the tears away from his eyes.

A pained sob brought Jon's attention back to the face of the man he had called 'father' all his life. Ned Stark's shoulders were shaking as he held his only nephew, orphaned before he could even walk.

"Ned," Howland Reed who Jon had forgotten completely spoke suddenly, causing both Jon and his uncle to startle at the slight Crannogman who was holding a hand at his bleeding side. "What will you do?"

His uncle held his silence for a moment before he laid a last kiss on his mother's brow. "I'll raise him at Winterfell," Ned said. "I will not let Lya's boy grow up without family…to the world he'll be Jon Snow, my son."

"He'll be a bastard," Howland said carefully. "Your wife will not like it."

Ned nodded sadly. "He'll have a hard life, but he will be alive, I'll not have him share the fate of his brother and sister," and Jon felt a sudden stab of pain in his heart.

He knew what had happened to Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys, to think of them as siblings was strange, even more so was the fact that if his uncle had not done what he did then Jon _'or is it Aemon?'_ would have shared their fate. Would he have been strangled by a pillow? Or would the King have split his skull open on a wall like Clegane did to his elder brother?

He didn't even notice that he had fallen to his knees weeping until the hand of both Melisandre and the old man touched upon his shoulder. All the revelations of the last few hours, including his own death. Not even the death of Ygritte had been as painful, nor taken such a toll upon him, worst of all, Jon knew now that all of the pain was his own fault, it was the price for his birth, for which he could never repay.

"Now you know," the old man said. "You are the last male heir of our House. The world is yours to save, and the Iron Throne yours to take."

"Our House?" Jon questioned.

"Once, long ago, before I became the Three-Eyed-Raven, I was Brynden Bloodraven. Hand of the King, son of Aegon IV Targaryen. The future prosperity of our House rests now upon your shoulders."

"But, what about the Targaryen across the sea?" Jon asked as he searched for her name. "Daenerys," he finally said as he remembered the name.

"Perhaps she has a part to play, perhaps not. I cannot see the path that lies before her."

Bloodraven turned to Melisandre. "You are older than you appear, and powerful besides," he said. "You **must** teach him. Train him to use his powers, even if they do not correlate to the Red God, if he cannot master the power that resides in his blood, the world is doomed to eternal darkness."

Melisandre nodded. "He is R'hllor's chosen, I will not fail him."

"Good, now remember…" and before they could hear what Bloodraven had to say the world turned to flame and ash. Winds of scorching heat turned and twisted until both Melisandre and Jon _'Aemon,'_ he reminded himself tumbled out of a roaring fire amongst hundreds of men and women.

The army that surrounded them were dressed in impeccable, albeit strange armour. Their arms and legs were protected with intricate plate, richly decorated with strange imagery of fantastical beasts and glyphs. A few wore either single wholesuit plate cuirasses while others had armour of segmented plates, while the vast majority wore long protective shirts and mid-thigh length skirts of scale, what every armour had in common was the distinctive smoky ripples of valyrian steel, for that matter every man and woman alike had flowing manes of hair ranging from the almost pure white that he himself had acquired to a more golden white, and purple eyes of all nuances shone in the firelight as they stared at him and Melisandre. Standing closest were twelve men, armoured just like the others, but with elaborate robes on top of the armour, in hues of red, green, blue and purple, and right in front of Jon ' _Aemon'_ he told himself yet again, stood the man who could be no other than the leader of the army they had encountered.

Standing tall at well over six feet, he was clad from head to toe in silver plate that had been worked into a piece of art. Pictures of ancient battles to writings in High Valyrian and glowing gems, all of it had been engraved and incorporated into the armoured plates. Serrated edges, ran along his bracers, and his dragon shaped helmet held a flowing plume of bright yellow horse hair. Like his helmet's plumage, he wore a flowing cloak that just barely touched the ground, this in the same yellow colour. His shield was yellow, with a single swooping dragon dragon in black above a chevron in red.

Looking at the man's face Aemon barely held himself from gulping. There was intelligence in those eyes, but also cruelty, and if how Melisandre's eyes glowed slightly when she performed her magics was anything to go by, the man was also a skilled sorcerer. And as if things could not be worse, the man was flanked by the largest monstrosity Aemon had ever laid eyes on.

The dragon, for what else could it be was so large that its mouth alone was large enough to allow three men to stand side by side inside without hitting their heads at the roof of its mouth. The black curved teeth were the length of longswords while the dragon's yellow eyes were the size of dinner plates. Scales the size of Aemon's fists covered the entire dragon like a suit of armour in tones of deep red to blazing orange. If this dragon was anything close to what Balerion had been, he understood perfectly why Torrhen Stark had knelt before Aegon, and he was amazed at the balls ' _or stupidity'_ of the Lannisters and Gardeners who had actually engaged Aegon's forces.

" _Who are you, whom deem yourself worthy to appear before me?"_ the Dragonlord questioned, his voice was harsh and brooked no argument.

As quick as he dared, lest he lose his life to the maw of a dragon, Aemon knelt and lowered his head, and he breathed out a short sigh of relief as Melisandre copied his actions, though she prostrated herself even further by letting her forehead rest on the ground with both of her hands stretched out before her.

" _Let me handle this,"_ Melisandre whispered to him.

" _My Master is Aemon of the House Targaryen,"_ she spoke, almost causing Aemon to protest at her calling him Master, but he figured that Melisandre understood better than he.

The Dragonlord frowned for a moment. _"Ah yes, the ones who fled to the west a few years ago, to settle a small island. I remember how we all mocked them when they warned us all of what was to come,"_ he sighed deeply. _"How I wish now that we had heeded their warning."_

The Dragonlord grabbed Aemon's chin and lifted his head so that he could stare into his face. _"Where is your dragon? For that matter, why do you appear before me naked?"_

" _Great Lord,"_ Melisandre said, still prostate on the ground. _"My Lord Master's majestic beast was slain as near was he by a jealous freedman whom guested him in Myr, only instinctual magics kept my Master and I safe."_

The Dragonlord narrowed his eyes as he studied both Melisandre and Aemon, noting the numerous scars he had picked up over the years, including the recently healed ones on his chest. _"The same has happened everywhere recently. Lys was the first, and then, one after the other the Free Cities rose against us. What few of us survived the doom were murdered alongside our dragons."_ Turning his head towards Melisandre he continued. _"And who are you? Who presumes to speak in my presence?"_

Melisandre took it in stride though, and Aemon was once more impressed at how almost nothing, not even death by dragonfire could unnerve her. _"I am my Master's most loyal, I perform whatever My Master needs or desires, whether it be to act as his tongue, or be his instrument of death,"_ Melisandre answered, and Aemon had to give her points for audacity and ingenuity.

The Dragonlord turned to one of the robed men who stood closest. _"Is it possible that this young man's attempts at sorcery interfered with the ritual?"_

" _My Lord Emperor,"_ the robed man started. _"Anything is possible, perhaps he is indeed what we came for. We prayed to Urrax and cast our spells in the hope that the way forward would be made clear, and he showed up. It cannot be happenstance."_

Jon gulped, the only Emperor Aemon had ever heard of in the vaguest terms would be Aurion the Dragonlord who led his army into Valyria only to disappear. In the Smoking Sea.

" _Well, Aemon of House Targaryen?"_ the Emperor questioned. _"I am assembling a great host to retake our homeland, are you the one who can help me find the way?"_

Perhaps Aemon was. If there was one thing Valyria was full of it should be Valyrian steel, which would be needed against the White Walkers, and Valyria had said to be the centre for all magical teachings in the known world, but to enter it…a risky undertaking, but as it was he had little to lose.

" _I know the way Your Grace,"_ Aemon replied as he bowed his head again.

" _Then I shall offer you the honour of joining me. While never amongst the most influential of families, House Targaryen always enjoyed a position of wealth and prominence in Valyria, other than mine own daughter and what few relatives you have far to the west there are no more Dragonlords in the world. Swear yourself to me, and I shall reward you unlike no other. For your undying loyalty and aid in reclaiming our home I shall give you the chance to accept a new dragon for you to ride, and the chance to lead my armies into battle."_

Aemon swallowed. A dragon of his own. Ever since he and Robb were children he had dreamt of riding a dragon, and after the one incident when Robb broke his heart by saying that he could _never_ be the Lord of Winterfell due to his bastardry, Aemon had always proclaimed to be Aemon the Dragonknight or Daron the Young Dragon, and now, now he could barely hold his chuckles as he realized that he was related to both of his childhood heroes, descended from one of them even if the rumours about the Dragonknight and his sister Naerys were true.

" _H_ _e is the Dragonlord Aurion of House Belaerys,"_ Melisandre whispered, _just_ low enough that only Aemon could hear.

While it was certainly strange to suddenly find himself in a whole other place in the world, and hundreds of years before he had even been born, he knew that he must accept the situation for what it was, if he had to stop the Long Night before it could even begin he was fine with that

 _"I, Aemon of the House Targaryen hereby swear myself to you His Grace, Aurion of House Belaerys, First of his name as Emperor of Valyria. I swear to uphold his command, the be his sword and shield against the darkness, from this night and all nights to come."_ Aemon barely managed to stay serious as he took the oath of the Night's Watch and changed it as he saw fit.

Aurion took out his knife and made a shallow cut in the palm of his hand before offering the blade to Aemon, who took the hint and repeated the gesture and clasped his new Lord's hand in his own. _"As your Lord and Emperor I hereby accept your oath of fealty, and do swear that if you stay loyal and true, I will reward you with greatness, and if you prove to be false I will wreak upon you righteous vengeance."_

Aemon got his first personal taste of magic as he felt his blood boil, and something take hold in him. ' _blood magic,'_ he realized with trepidation. Blood magic had been used as he swore his oath, and he knew that any attempt at raising his blade against his new Lord would be futile. His own blood and magic would see him dead before he could finish the attempt.

A pair of servants wandered over, ' _slaves'_ Aemon thought with disgust as he spotted the collars on their necks. Next to all the Valyrians around him they looked positively plain, with dark brown hair, skin and eyes. _"These slaves will show you to a tent where you and your…pet can rest for the night. We ride for Qohor on the morrow to gather more or our Valyrian kin."_

Aemon nodded. He remembered enough to know that Aurion had started his army from Qohorik colonials, increasing his small army of perhaps a thousand to several thousand. He also knew that Aurion had with him thirty thousand men to Valyria, so most likely they would have to visit each of the Free Cities in turn.

" _What should I do with the…slaves Your Grace?"_ Aemon asked Aurion.

The Emperor waved the question away with a gesture. _"They are slaves, do with them what you will."_

Aemon tried his best to hide his grimace. He knew that the east had practiced slavery since time immemorial, the Valyrians just as cruel as the ones who came before and after, but he had never thought he would be mixed up in it all. While the temptations to protest slavery or let them go he wasn't stupid. Sure he may have tried just a little bit too hard to emulate his uncle, managing to get himself killed for it, but he knew enough that if he was truly the one to beat the White Walkers, he would need every advantage he could get, and the civilization of Old Valyria had seen no equal in the annals of history, before or since, so he would bite his tongue and play along. He had done so amongst a hundred thousand Free Folk, all whom had wanted him dead and would have killed him at the slightest sign if his duplicity, he could do so again.

" _Show me to my tent,"_ he ordered the two slaves who bowed deeply, leading him with all haste through the small camp to a generously sized tent that had been erected with all haste, a single bed stood inside with blankets and pillows of luxurious silk. Upon a small ebony nightstand stood a candlestick of Valyrian steel, three candles burning merrily on it, other than that the tent was empty. Before he could dismiss the two slaves however they had grabbed his arms and made him pose as they started to take quick measurements of anything and everything, causing him to squirm in discomfort when their hands came close to, or accidentally touched his cock, the sight of a naked Melisandre who was given a similar treatment was not helping his restraint at all.

Eventually they finished and disappeared swiftly, backing away with surprising speed and grace as they bowed over and over. He turned to the bed where Melisandre was already laying down, the seductive pose she held her body in, resting on the side with her head supported in one hand while the other hand laid comfortably at ease on her thigh. "Come My Prince," she said as she gestured to the space beside her and Aemon could see that it would be a tight fit. The bed was just large enough for a pair of lovers to share in comfort. "Tonight, we rest, and tomorrow we begin a new game." Weighing his options, Aemon sighed before joining her on the bed, barely restraining himself from cursing as Melisandre draped herself over him as if they had been lovers for all their lives. While Melisandre dozed off swiftly it took Aemon some time, helped in no way by his manhood that was more than eager to engage the woman who rested atop of him. He had almost given in to her once in Castle Black, and if things continued the way they had done so far during this crazy day, he knew that he would give in to her charms soon enough."

 _ **AN\:Had to write this, it's been going on in my head for some time now. For this particular piece, I am going by the show version mainly, when it comes to timeline and such, so no Jaeherys II. The GNC is just a Stark fanboy's dream and Wun Wun is the last giant.**_

 _ **As for how long I intend for Jon/Aemon to be stuck in the past I don't know, but I do know that IF I continue this, magic will be a lot more prevalent than in the show or books. Current pairings for this would be Jon and Melisandre, with one more joining/replacing Mel eventually.**_

 _ **Does this seem interesting? As in interesting enough that you want me to continue it? Or should I just shelve it and add more to this chapter whenever, instead of making it into a full fledged story of its own?**_

 _ **Read and Review.**_

 _ **Cheers**_

 _ **Manowarrior.**_


	3. Omake 22

**Shameless crack, not to be taken seriously at all, oh and Modern AU!**

 **Omake 22:**

Eddard Stark, Governor of the North and Mayor of Winterfell watched with pride as his eldest son Robb and his bastard nephew Jon Snow were taking time teaching their younger brother/cousin the best way to hit a football, his wife Catelyn was also looking, though her face was slightly pinched at being so close to Jon.

His younger sister Lyanna had caused a huge scandal when she told Robert Baratheon, the biggest landowner in the Stormlands to 'go fuck yourself' when he proposed to her. To make matter's worse, Lyanna who didn't care one whiff about what anyone else thought decided to run off with Rhaegar Targaryen. The ensuing scandal almost collapsed the country.

His older brother Brandon had flew down to King's Landing in a fury, mistakenly believing the tale told by some Baelish boy that Rhaegar had kidnapped and raped Lyanna, and instead of just calling Lyanna's cell he had decided to make an appearance in the Red Keep instead, and before parliament and President Aerys Targaryen he shouted for Rhaegar to 'Come out and Die'.

Exactly what had happened was still a mystery. According to some it was President Aerys who in a mad pique ordered his guards to kill Brandon, others claimed that it was Brandon who overwhelmed the presidential guard who tried to calm him in order to take his gun. The result was undeniable though, as Brandon was gunned down along with his father Rickard who had tried to defuse the situation only to be shot himself by the worried and trigger happy guards.

The following year proved to be the end for the Targaryen dynasty's long political dominance. Aerys, was impeached for not only interfering in the investigation but also for sullying the Presidency, having had no less than nine different mistresses during his thirty years in politics as a member of parliament, 4 years as Vice President and all three terms he had served as President. The final nail in his coffin had been his own wife Rhaella (and cousin) who had gleefully gone to the news and delivered a full account of what sort of man Aerys was in private.

A lecher who enjoyed violence, child pornography, a drinker and a drug abuser, though before he could be incarcerated he was shot dead by Officer Jaime Lannister of the Presidential Guard when Aerys decided to kill Rhaella for her 'unfaithfulness'.

Tha last straw as it appeared was when Rhaegar and Lyanna showed up shortly after Aerys' death. Rhaegar as VP apparently thought that he would take over the administration, only to lose everything. His wife Elia, one of the few Royals left in the world was not pleased at all when her husband's infidelity was proven, Lyanna accompanying Rhaegar while seven months pregnant was evidence enough, and had promptly blabbed to the press.

The divorce was brutal. Rhaella had been just as furious as Elia, and once Lyanna learnt that Rhaegar had lied to her about having had a 'quiet divorce' had been more than eager to help rake her lover/husband across the coals, and both Elia and Rhaella had apparently forgiven her if it meant torpedoing Rhaegar's good name. So Rhaegar had been left with nothing and barely escaped criminal charges, though RHaella had told him in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't receive as much as a single copper from her while she lived.

Waiting for Rhaella to die wouldn't help either as she'd had her best lawyers draw up a contract so airtight that if he was to even try to contest it his children would probably be old and grey before the litigation had all been cleared, so Rhaegar ran off to Essos instead and last Ned heard the former VP and 'Darling of Westeros' was slaving away in Volantis as a sanitation worker.

Lyanna sadly didn't survive the birth of her and Rhaegar's son, and as her marriage was never valid poor Jon was saddled with a bastard name instead. Ned had argued long and hard with both Elia and Rhaella to let Jon live with him in Winterfell, but could you blame him? Jon was the only thing he had left of Lya, and while Elia certainly didn't hate Lya or Jon, he wanted Jon to be as far away from his father's family as possible, if only for the fact that the press down south was far more vicious than up north, though Jon visited Dragonstone, the ancestral home of his father's family several times a year, spending as much as six months on the island every year to Ned's dismay.

Not that it was a bad thing in and off itself, but spending time in the south with his stepmother, grandmother and siblings also meant spending time with 'uncle Oberyn' a man who didn't have an ounce of shame in his body, and who was delighted at every opportunity to get Jon and Aegon into heaps of trouble. At least he didn't have to worry about Jon's uncle Viserys anymore as the self entitled playboy managed to get himself killed in a dingy pub in Braavos while playing Dothraki Roulette.

No, it was far better that Jon stayed here in the north with Ned, who did his absolute best to prepare Jon for the large inheritance he would receive on his eighteenth birthday. While Ned's own fortune wasn't as large as the fortune the Targaryens had, to not even speak of the Lannisters it was no small thing, and the Stark family had been in control of the in some form for nearly fifteen millennia, first as Kings, then Lords, all the way to the present modern day where they were the largest real estate holders and business men. And of course they still ruled through the political arena too as the majority of the populace in the North had voted for the Starks since the very dawn of democracy, and still continued to do so.

Laughter broke out as Bran hit the ball with his foot, instead of hitting the goal, the ball flew in a graceful curve and landed in the fish pond.

Ned kept his chuckles low as both Jon and Robb whispered instructions to Bran who steeled himself as he placed a new ball down, only to jump in shock as a ball hit from somewhere behind him landed in the top left corner of the net.

Looking around the three boys laughed as his youngest daughter Arya curtsied mockingly, and then ran off to great amusement as Bran chased her.

"Sir," Ned turned around and spotted Rodrik Cassel, an old family friend who ran a security firm that Ned had employed all his life.

Spotting the somewhat anxious look on Rodrik's face, Ned felt a touch of anxiety himself. "What is it Rodrik?"

Rodrik handed him a little magazine that had the word 'SALE!' written all over it in big bold letters. "An employee from The Wall had this with him, the Super Sale is about to begin."

The Wall had once according to rumours been made to protect the Realm from ice demons in the far north. Though how someone had made a wall of ice 700 feet tall and 300 miles wide was a mystery to Ned. Now though The Wall, was simply the largest supermarket in the known world, and for one week every year (though never the same day) they held a super sale on everything from food to the latest in electronics, and while rich the Stark's had always tried to do as much of their shopping as possible during the Super Sale.

"Right," Ned said as he steeled himself (he hated shopping) "Tell the lads to get ready."

Rodrik nodded, he seemed to be ready even now, as Ned could spot the signature bulges of protective gear under the man's clothes, useful not only to protect yourself from the throngs of pushing people, but also to give a hard shove or punch or whatever to whatever fool laid eyes on the same toaster or something that you yourself wanted.

"And tell Bran he's coming too," Ned said suddenly.

"Ned," Cat complained. "Ten years is too young to participate in this kind of thing."

"He won't be a boy forever," Ned said slowly as he stared his wife into her eyes before uttering the Stark Motto for the last several thousand years, "And Christmas is Coming."


	4. Omake 34

**Omake 34: If that's how you want it Ned.**

"I need you Ned," Robert said with a sigh as he looked sadly at the statue of Lyanna in the crypts. "Down in King's Landing, not up here where you're no good to anyone."

It was the fifth time he had asked during the month long stay Robert, the Queen and their children had been visiting Winterfell. And Ned was as adamant now as he had been then.

"Robert," Ned bemoaned. "I cannot," he held up a hand to forestall Robert's argument. "Bran still hasn't woken up, I have to appease Jon's adventurism by putting together a force of riders to go north of the Wall to verify the truth of what wildlings and black brothers alike have been screaming about, I've barely managed to keep him from riding off himself."

Robert sniggered, no doubt he could see Jon riding north all alone if needs be, just to earn the bragging rights of saying 'I went north of the Wall to fight the White Walkers,' his bloody friend also happened to be the King so Ned couldn't even punch his lights out for enjoying Ned's frustration.

"But Ned," Robert continued after gaining control of his amusement. "Surely you have other people who can run the North for you? I meant what I said you know. There's a war coming, and I bet you that my 'beloved' wife's family is involved."

Ned shook his head. "I am going nowhere until Bran wakes up and I can figure out the truth of what happened. If war should come I will call my banner to your side Robert, you know this. Having me in the south would just mean longer time until I could arrive with the might of the North."

Robert sat down on the floor of the crypt, leaning against the wall with a wineskin in his hand, his old friend looked more broken than Ned had ever thought to be possible. "I know," Robert sighed. "I just want my friend, my brother in all but blood down in King's Landing with me." Robert took a deep drink. "I'm losing the kingdoms you know," he said with a mirthless chuckle. "The smallcouncil and court alike is overrun with Lannister's or their servants, even my own bloody son wears the Lannister sigil on his banner."

"Is there no one you can trust?" Ned asked. "Stannis?"

Absolutely the wrong thing to say. "Stannis the mirthless cunt. The only thing he does is to complain about his rights to Storm's End, and demand that every whorehouse is shut down, as if."

Ned nodded sagely, he was well aware of Robert's vices. "Perhaps one of your Estermont cousins? Or someone from the Vale?" he suggested.

Robert nodded thoughtfully as his mind pondered the ups and downs of getting one of his friends from the Vale or one of his cousins. "Before I forget," Robert said suddenly. "Have you made a decision in regards to Sansa and Joffrey?"

Ned grimaced. "I was hesitant to believe it when I heard that Joffrey ordered the Hound to bring him Jon's head, but I have kept a close eye on your son Robert and I don't like what I see."

"Joffrey did what?" Robert asked with surprise.

"He ordered Sandor Clegane to kill Jon and bring back his head."

"THAT. . .FUCKING. . .HALFWIT!" Robert roared as he angrily leapt to his feet. "Gods for years I've had to tolerate that pampered little shit," a slew of words that were too low for Ned to catch them, "Next time he puts so much as a fucking toe out of line," more grumbling, along whit what Ned imagined to be Robert's hands wringing a neck. A good ten minutes or so later Robert had calmed down significantly. "Well there's nothing for it, I'll have to offer my apologies when I pass Moat Cailin on the way back south," a strange gleam that sent shivers down Ned's spine suddenly appeared in Robert's eyes. "Are you _quite_ sure I can't offer you to become Hand of the King?"

"I'm afraid not Robert," Ned said as he refused Robert for (hopefully) the last time.

Robert left that very day, as did the Prince for that matter, though he left in the opposite direction. While Ned was never privy to the interrogation Robert must have put Joffrey through, it was clear that the answers that had been provided were not to the King's liking.

For that matter it wasn't exactly to the Queen's liking either when she spotted her son who looked like had had gone ten rounds in the fist ring with Greatjon Umber. Her displeasure became even more pronounced when Robert announced that Joffrey would be visiting the wall and lending a helping hand for the next six moons to learn the values of duty and hard work, besides Ned suspected it was also to let Joffrey know what could expect him if he stepped out of line again.

And so, with Robert gone back south, his milk drinker of a son sent to the Wall for six moons and lastly Jon placed safely out of sight and out of mind in Moat Cailin, Ned could _finally_ get some relaxation like he hadn't had since Jon first discovered that his cock had other uses than pissing.

 **One Month Later:**

Ned had just seated himself in his favourite chair to relax when his day went straight to the seven hells. It had been such a good day too. He'd had a good peaceful breakfast, he'd watched with pride as Robb took petitions and held council. After that he, Robb Vayon Poole, Jory Cassel and a few others had a hunt near the wolfswood, with Jory being the only one to catch any game at all in the form of a fat rabbit.

Returning back home to Winterfell he received the wonderful news that Bran had woken up, which had been a relief after the failed attempt to knife him three days before that, though it was disheartening that he couldn't remember anything.

Still, the day had continued to go at least relatively well as he had for the first time in years managed to finish all of his paperwork and with time to spare, no Arya and no Jon, or even worse Arya AND Jon at the same time had the remarkable effect of freeing up his schedule for important things, rather than to question the futility of life and complaining to the Old Gods of why exactly _he_ was to be cursed with such mischievous wards/children.

After a hearty meal he and Cat decided to retire to his solar in, as was mentioned his favourite chair, Sansa Bran and Rickon all sat there, eager to hear whatever stories they decided to share that evening, Robb in the meantime had left for the ravenry to send off a letter to Wynafryd Manderly who he nursed a secret (in his own mind) crush on, of course that was when Luwin had to come and ruin his fucking day.

Luwin had entered with a red faced Jory beside him who was shaking like a leaf and Ned's first thought was, ' _what the fuck have you done now Jon?'_ still the question had to be put forth, and he couldn't very well use the same language that his thoughts usually preferred when it came to any subject regarding Jon. "Yes Luwin," he said.

Luwin cleared his throat as he rolled out a scroll that was much longer than Ned felt comfortable with. "First off, a message from Dorne inviting Jon, Lady Arya and his squire Trystane and the Starks of Winterfell down south for the upcoming birth of Princess Arianne Martell in some six or seven moons."

Ned felt ice creep up his spine as he added the days. "That fucking idiot," he snarled, no longer able to kept it in, neither could Jory apparently as the Captain of the Guard in Winterfell finally collapsed in hysterical cackles.

"Shall I continue?" Luwin asked as he did his best to ignore Jory.

However much Ned wanted to say no and just continue to live life like nothing was wrong he knew that it was better to just get it over with. "Continue please."

"Where was I?" Luwin asked as he read over the scroll again, "Ah yes. Apparently Prince Doran has expressed an interest to betroth Lady Arya to Prince Trystane, apparently at the suggestion of Lord Jon, who have, don't ask me how, convinced Lady Arya that this is a good idea, an offer of marriage from Willas Tyrell to Lady Sansa has also arrived."

Ned blinked, how on earth had Jon managed to swing those two offers? For that matter how could he even refuse? From the light shining in Sansa's eyes he knew straight away that the idea of becoming Lady of Highgarden, the heart of southern chivalry was most appealing to his eldest daughter, not to mention the triumph in Cat's eyes at the thought of one of her daughters becoming a Princess and the other one becoming the Lady of Highgarden seemed to be the fulfilment of most of her ambitions.

"How the hell did he manage that?" Ned wondered, causing Luwin to shuffle uneasily. "Luwin?" he asked sharply when he spotted said shuffling.

"Before I continue I figure that I should mention that Theon expressed an interest to take the black, he must have read the letter over my shoulder as the next thing I knew he had his horse saddled and sped out of Winterfell."

Ned blinked, "What the fuck is going on?" he asked. Never in his life had he been so confused.

"Here my Lord," Luwin said as he held out the scroll which Ned greedily took and started reading.

 _Dearest Uncle, as I write this I find that I must thank you. You've given me so much over the years, and I doubt I would be the man I am today without your generosity. But, enough of that, I don't want to send home a novel's worth of thanks, I am far too busy._

 _As you've no doubt learnt by now I may have made a. . .poor decision a few moons back when I hosted a few dornish guests, thank the gods that Prince Doran didn't call for my head, though he was rather demanding in reparations, though I managed to convince him that a marriage between Arya and Prince Trystane would be to the benefit of both our families._

 _Arya must have taken a liking to the Sand Snakes, as I barely had time to mention that in Dorne and as a Princess she could probably have all the sword or spear lessons she wanted, mayhap even wear breeches without receiving complaints about how unseemely it would be, all at the price of wedding Trystane who as far as I've heard and seen so far is a pleasant lad, needless to say she wished for me to impress upon you that this is apparently what she wants, and honestly uncle, I don't think we'll ever find someone better for Arya, royal title notwithstanding._

 _Also, thanks to my newfound friendship with Prince Oberyn I managed to propose a betrothal between Willas Tyrell who is a great friend of Oberyn apparently and Sansa. You need not worry, Willas or Mace will contact you for further details, but from what we agreed upon so far, Sansa would stay in the North until her fourteenth nameday, upon which she would come south and spend some time as a Lady in waiting to Lady Margaery, a truly pleasant Lady and a total fox in the. . .nevermind, all you need to know is that Sansa will receive the best care and get lots of friends who shares a great many of her interests._

 _All I had to do to swing that offer was to get Mace Tyrell onto the Small Council, a ridiculously easy feat. Lord Baelish has after all managed to let the Realm get into six million dragons in debt, and Mace is much richer than Baelish, that and he is far more gullible too, easy to please, and the point that got Robert to agree was that apparently it would piss off Stannis to the point of giving our good Master of Ships a heart attack, and I see why Robert calls Stannis an angry bore. We had barely mentioned Mace and he started to grind his teeth so hard that it sounded like he was chewing on rocks._

 _Other than that, everything is fine here in the south, I don't rightly know how long I'll stay here, until I return I tasked Eddard Karstark to act as my Castellan, hope you don't mind._

 _My regards to the rest of the family._

 _Jon Stark_

 _Lord of Moat Cailin and Hand of the King._

Hand of the King…Hand of the fucking King! "What the HELL was Robert thinking?" Ned questioned. Cat seemed to be just as stunned as he was.

"It seems My Lord that when you refused the offer, the King wanted Jon to take it instead."

Ned looked down at the letter one more time while his mind tried to comprehend the absolute chaos this could cause. The Seven Kingdoms were barely large enough for both Robert and Jon to coexist when one was in the North and the other in King's Landing. Jon and Robert staying in the same city and running the Kingdoms!

Ned stood up hurriedly. "Cat, Luwin, tell Robb that he has to decide if he wants to approve of these offers." One by one he hugged his children and then he kissed Cat more fiercely than he had ever done in his life. "I love you Cat," he told her before hurrying over to one of the chests in the room to find his thickest cloak.

"Ned," Cat asked him, confusion evident in her voice. "What are you doing?"

Ned let out a hysterical bark of laughter. "I've fucking had it," he chuckled. "I can't do this anymore, tell Robb that he is the Lord of Winterfell, I'm joining Theon and Benjen on the Wall. Better to take the Black than trying to fix whatever storm is coming after Robert and Jon trying to run seven kingdoms," and then, to their complete shock he laughed and ran out of the solar to find his horse. After ten and seven years it would be great to finally experience freedom, and freedom could be found on the Wall.


	5. Omake 3, The Sellsword

**Omake 3/Challenge number 1.**

 **I tried my best to convince the disclaimer to make an appearance but he was sadly stuck in Christmas traffic so take this attentive bunny as a consolation:**

(\\_/)  
(o-o)  
(x x)

 _ **Jon Sand the Sellsword**_

 **The North, 290 AC.**

 **Jon Snow.**

Jon shook as he drew the furs tighter around himself. For three weeks now he had been on his own out in the wilds. He may only be seven years old, but his father had taught him both how to swing a sword or use a knife, and more importantly how to ride, shoot a bow and to properly skin and prepare an animal for cooking, skills he had made good use of since he ran away from home.

Jon happened to be a bastard you see, and as such he was no more than a stain in the eyes of his father's wife. Lady Catelyn Stark, the mother of Jon's siblings who he loved more than anything in the world _despised_ Jon, and made her damn best to make Jon feel despised too. Perhaps if his father had been willing to tell Jon _anything_ about his mother he wouldn't feel so bad, but he didn't. He didn't know if his mother was a noble Lady from the south, or a whore, so Jon had done his absolute best to ferret out the secret on his own. So far the best way to get men to talk had been to ply his 'targets' with ale, and while the reports were conflicting the majority seemed to think that Ashara Dayne, a woman from Dorne had been his mother, the fact that Lady Catelyn had gone white and then slapped him when he meekly asked her had all but confirmed it in his eyes.

So he packed what he could. Extra cloaks and warm furs, the dagger he had received from his uncle Benjen on his sixth nameday. He had tormented himself with guilt by. . .borrowing a pouch of twenty golden dragons. He brought his best bow and a whole quiver of arrows. Flint and steel for making fire, some bread and cheese and a waterskin, all this he packed onto his favourite horse and rode off in the night, leaving a simple letter explaining that he was going to find his mother. He hadn't seen Winterfell since.

Perhaps if his father had still been home he wouldn't have gone, but father was gone. South to fight against the Ironborn who had risen in rebellion against the Crown. In his absence Lady Stark had controlled everything, and without his father there to temper her, she had been much harsher than usual towards Jon. He had been scolded severely any time he beat Robb in sword practice, he was not permitted to eat with the rest of them during meals, being forced to take his meals in his room or in the kitchen, he wasn't even permitted to hold his new baby sister Arya, the only one of his father's three trueborn children who shared his colouring. So with his father gone for gods know how long, he decided to go south and try and see if his mother was alive in Dorne, perhaps to ask her why she had let him go, or never written. Besides, people treated bastards better in Dorne he had heard, mayhap he could even learn to become a Knight and one day even become the new Sword of the Morning like his uncle Arthur Dayne had been.

He had fortunately been blessed with good weather, and he knew enough to hunt and keep himself alive when his bread and cheese ran out. He kept off the roads while travelling south, just in case Lady Catelyn would by some miracle send out riders after him. But after three weeks he was forced to find shelter amongst a copse of thick trees, trying in vain to light a fire amongst the pouring rain and howling wind. Eventually he just gave up, choosing instead to huddle himself as best he could in the thick furs he'd brought and try to sleep. Evening gloom soon crept into night and Jon started to doze off when he heard the noise.

The clang of steel against steel, and shouted curses. The best thing would be to ignore it, but curiosity is a strange thing, and Jon was no better than any other boy his age, so he checked to see if his garron Snowflake was still tied up. Confirming that Snowflake was indeed securely tied to the nearest tree he fastened the shortsword and dagger he had taken with him to his belt, put the quiver of arrows on his back and gripped his bow in sweaty hands, and arrow ready on the string to be drawn and loosened.

The source of the noise showed itself quicker than he anticipated and he barely avoided gasping in shock and somewhat awe.

A single man, with neck length brown hair, wearing what looked to be well worn, but still in good condition leather armor was holding a sword in one hand, his other hand was held to his side which appeared to be bleeding, his leg was also injured from the way he was favouring his right leg. Still wounded as he was he was holding off no less than five wildlings, another three lay dead on the ground already.

"Give it up kneeler," one of the wildlings, a tall man with a bald head and scars resembling tattoos all over his face and head said as he grinned nastily at the wounded man.

"Ye'll be goin'n the pot later," another laughed as he swung a big axe against the wounded man who barely evaded it due to his lamed leg.

"All you fockers wanna do is put me in the cold ground with no woman to keep me warm," he jested, in spite of being outnumbered five to one. "Take a special kind of man to be so cruel," he finished as he suddenly grabbed the nearest wildling, and with one deft move he opened the throat of his victim who fell shaking to the ground as he tried in vain to keep the blood from gushing out of his throat.

"FUCKER," the biggest of the wildlings yelled as he jumped the killer of his friend, and to Jon's dismay he managed to disarm his foe, sending the sword flying one way while he and the wounded man both fell another way and the wildling immediately started to beat the wounded man in the face with his fists.

"RALF," one of them yelled, and to Jon's horror he was looking right at him while pointing. "THERE'S ANOVVER ONE."

Jon almost panicked, in fact he probably did somewhat panic as he was just as surprised as the wildling when his arrow was suddenly sticking out of the wildlings eye. Like his father had taught him, Jon drew a second arrow and let it fly, distressing somewhat as he acted too fast, the arrow lodging itself into the knee of the closest man rather than in his chest, though at least the wildling would be out of the fight for some time as he writhed on the ground, screaming and cursing in pain.

There was never time for a third shot as the last two wildlings were upon him. Fear and excitement in equal measure pounded in his veins as he dropped the bow and stepped to the right, narrowly avoiding the swinging sword o one of the wildlings. As he did so he used his left hand to draw his knife behind his back and made a swift slash as he spun away.

He didn't even need to see if he had been successful, the spray of warm blood hitting his back was proof enough, the added sound of a panicked gurgle and a body hitting the ground told Jon that he had sliced the wildling's throat like he'd hoped for.

"I'm gonna fook ye bloody little boy," the other wildling snarled as he swung a crude iron sword at Jon.

Jon who had at this point drawn his own sword knew that he could never beat the wildling when it came to strength, but he could outmanoeuvre him. If there was one thing Jon was good at according to Ser Rodrik it was his ability to think on his feet, to use his speed and lithe build to his advantage, and regardless of how strong his foe was, the wildling's swings were so wild and unchoreographed that Jon could see them coming from a mile.

The wildling did have the advantage of reach on his side, so Jon had to play the patient game, ducking, backtracking or sidestepping, he used his sword whenever he spotted the chance to turn the blade aside and dart in for a quick slice of his knife, slices that were not just painful but also enraged the wildling further, and then he tripped.

Jon had backtracked too far and tripped over a branch and fallen onto his back, his sword and knife were both out of his reach and he cried out in pain as the wildling stomped his foot onto Jon's chest to hold him in place.

"I'm gunna enjoy fookin' yer little arse boy," the wildling sneered as he gave Jon a disgusting creepy smile, and then his head flew off his neck in a spray of blood.

"You alright lad?"

It was the man Jon had spotted fighting the wildlings. He was drenched in blood and as Jon looked to the left he realized why. When the last wildling had tackled him to the ground the man must have drawn a knife from his back as the wildling was carved open from crotch to neck, his insides were all lying innocently outside of the body.

"I-I think so," Jon stammered. "Thank you Ser."

The man grinned slightly as he sat down beside Jon with a wince. "I'm no Knight," he said with a laugh. "I'm just an upjumped sellsword."

Jon widened his eyes, sellswords were far from common in the North, and most of them had pretty bad reputations, but the man **had** saved his life, and he seemed kind.

"What are you doing up here in the North?" Jon asked curiously.

"Little job brought me up here," the sellsword said. "A man fled beyond the Wall, and I hunted him down and killed him."

"Why?" Jon asked, it seemed a bit extreme to go _all_ that way just to kill someone.

The sellsword shrugged. "When someone offers a price of a hundred gold dragons for one head you tend to try and take it."

Jon nodded hesitantly. He had never wanted for anything, sake perhaps for the love of a mother and a proper name, but he knew enough from Maester Luwin's lessons that a hundred gold dragons was more than most men earned in an entire lifetime, hells, five dragons was enough for a whole set of plate armour.

"And you lad," the sellsword asked. "What are you doing out in the woods all alone hmm? Shouldn't you be home with your parents`"

"I. . .my Lord father threw me out," Jon lied, not really needing to fake any sadness. He was more than sad and shocked enough already.

"Ahh," the sellword said knowingly, "Bastard eh? So what were you thinking going into the woods then?"

"My-my mother," Jon stammered. "My mother lives in Dorne."

The sellsword laughed. "And you thought you could go all the way to Dorne alone did ya?"

Jon pouted, surely it wasn't that ludicrous. "I can fight, and hunt" he said stubbornly.

The sellsword looked at the two people Jon had killed, as well as the wildling he had shot in the knee. "Aye that ye can," he agreed. "Few more years with the right teacher and you could get rich."

"I'm gonna be a Knight," Jon said proudly as he raised his chin defiantly. "My uncle was the Sword of the Morning."

The sellsword whistled. "That'd make yer mum one of them Daynes in Starfall then."

Jon nodded, before he had an epiphany. "Can you take me there? I can pay." He added quickly as the sellsword looked sceptical when he asked.

"You can pay?" he asked sceptically.

"I have ten gold dragons," Jon said proudly, and I can hunt and cook along the way.

The sellsword looked appraisingly at Jon for a moment, as if weighing him up. "I suppose I could take ye, I'm goin to Blackmont anyhow to deliver this head, Starfall is just a few days walk from there."

Jon almost whooped. "I have a horse too, he is big enough for both of us," he said eagerly.

The sellsword laughed again. "Yer an eager little fooker aren't ya?"

Jon grinned at the sellsword. "Do you think you can teach me how to fight better?" he asked as he stuck out his lip in a way that he had been told was quite adorable on his normally solemn face.

The sellsword looked astonished for a moment before laughing again. "I think I'm gonna have ta keep ya, that look right there, the ladies are gonna fookin love it," seeing Jon was still looking hopeful he reached out and ruffled Jon's hair, "Alright kid, alright, I'll teach ya how to fight properly."

"THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU," Jon shouted as he threw his arms around the sellsword who 'oofed' at being bombarded by one seven year old northern bastard.

"Easy Lad, easy," he laughed as he stood up, and Jon sheepishly let go.

"I'm gonna have to sew this up," he explained to Jon as he pointed out his wounds. "While I do this you go grab yer horse and come back here."

Eagerly Jon sprinted back to Snowflake and untied him before riding back to the sellsword who seemed to have finished sewing up his wounds. "Good horse," he remarked as he threw himself behind Jon and taking over the reins. "I think that for the sake of safety we'll pretend that I'm yer father and you are my little boy."

"Really?" Jon asked, "I already have a father."

"Your father threw you out lad," the sellsword said soothingly. "Until we can find yer mother I'm the only person you have in this world, what's your name by the way."

"My name's Jon. . .Sand," Jon answered, pausing just a slight moment before saying Sand, probably better to name himself as a Dornish bastard than to use Jon Snow, he had no desire to be dragged back to Lady Catelyn where no doubt hours of screaming and a good round of the switch to his backside awaited him. Besides he had been born in Dorne, so by custom he should have been named Jon Sand anyhow.

"Name's Bronn," the sellsword said. "But you can call me father, and trust me lad, we're gonna have a grand old time."

Jon smiled. While Jon would always think of Eddard Stark as his father, he liked Bronn, and though he may not yet know it when they started to ride south, this was just the first of a long life of adventures, gold and women waiting for him. . .

 **AN/:**

 **So, I am hereby challenging anyone to write a fic where Jon is essentially raised by Bronn, and as a product of the upringing his new 'father' gives him he'll have a grand old time. Plus points for anyone who can make as many scenes as possible with men like Tyrion, or Tywin or others probably guessing who Jon is, maybe eventually ending with Jon getting Winterfell and being named as a Stark in reward for some service done for Jaime, Cersei or Tywin.**

 **Naturally this Jon would be quite different, with Bronn raising him he would be a lot more ruthless, probably fond of women and with a mercenary streak a mile wide.**

 **If anyone accepts this challenge, feel free to use this part as a starter. Give me a PM and I can mail/share the document**


	6. Omake 27 Matter of succession

**Omake 27: Matter of succession or "Why Didn't I take the Black?" -Ned**

 **King's Landing.**

Ned was angry. . . no scratch that. He was **furious**. He had spent almost a year in the south in this stinking corrupted city. Manoeuvring through layers upon layers of schemes, intrigues and smokescreens. His friend Robert was hardly anything like the young man he grew up with in the Vale.

Stannis Baratheon had holed himself up in Dragonstone, refusing to even reply to any of Ned's letters. Ned had also had to suffer the presence of Varys, who gave him the creeps the way he looked at Ned, as if he knew some big secret, and Ned had to spend every day sweating, fearing that Varys knew or would find out the truth about Jon.

Littlefinger was also an ever present figure that Ned had to suffer. Despite having clearly managed to help Robert drive the Kingdoms into six million dragons in debt the whoring fleshpeddler was still the Master of Coin, though from what Ned had discovered since traveling south, Petyr Baelish was a broken man. Jon had apparently by accident taken everything from the man. All his whorehouses burnt or torn down, his female 'employees' had robbed him blind of whatever he had left and scarpered to Essos. And it became obvious to Ned who had learnt a thing or two over the years observing Jon that Baelish loved/hated a few select things in life.

He hated Jon, Ned himself and Ned's dead brother Brandon with a passion that almost excited Ned slightly whenever he conversed with the little rat who did his best to seem like a friendly subservient little worm eager to please, yet any mention of Ned, Jon Brandon or the word Stark in general would cause Baelish to flush angrily while his eyes burned with fury. It was also obvious that Petyr still loved Cat, and after deciding to take a page out of Robert's book, Ned amused himself by eagerly sharing rather intimate details, real or imagined that he'd had with Cat over the years if only to see the blasted menace's heart break, not to mention he was curious to see if he could do one better than Jon and actually cause a man to die from a heart attack, Jon himself had almost managed it, though Theon did recover after a week of rest and treatment by Maester Luwin who had Jon swear to never again mention his sexual escapades with his wife and three Dornish women, one of them who was the fucking Princess of Dorne.

Speaking of Dorne, Jon and Alys' little escapade with the three Dornish ladies was a cause for a month long headache for Ned. Prince Doran had **not** been pleased to have his daughter and two of his nieces return from the north with children in their bellies. He was even more displeased when he learned that his brother was not accompanying them so he could have someone to take his frustration out on, perfectly understandable to Ned, who himself regretted deeply that he had allowed Jon to travel north of the Wall, with several of his friends, whom apparently included Prince Oberyn and a few hundred men.

Of course Lya's devil spawn eventually returned and the news he had sent with him actually had Ned seek out Grand Maester Pycelle for something to settle his nerves and stomach, while bemoaning the fact that his hair had stopped going grey and shifted towards turning white. How the boy had managed to convince nearly one hundred thousand wildlings to apparently come south and settle peacefully in the North he doubted he'd ever know, even more shocking was the news that giants and mammoths were still alive and had come down too, along with what Jon told him were the last few hundred still living Children of the Forest.

The news of giants, children and mammoths still living, and now part of the Realm had caused such upheaval amongst the more pious Houses as well as large parts of the Faith that Ned had not only sent Sansa back home, but also ordered every smithy in the north to start producing arms by the bucketload.

And what did Robert do about this one might ask? Robert was just fucking laughing, whoring, eating and drinking, and occasionally actually being nice to Cersei whose belly was swelling more by the day. Then Robert left for a hunt, the very same day that Ned discovered that Cersei's children were not his, rather they had been sired by her own twin brother. After throwing up copiously at that thought he had gone to, foolishly some might say confront the Queen, only to be rebuffed at the door by a maid who informed him that the Queen was in labour.

So he'd been forced to wait as things turned from bad to fucking catastrophic. While waiting for the Queen to birth her latest bastard (from the Kingslayer no doubt), he was informed that little Tommen had perished as he tried to chase down his little cat named Ser Pounce, only to trip at the top of the stairs. Joffrey likewise had managed to miraculously get himself killed by Petyr Baelish's own hand. Exactly _what_ Joffrey had said or done to get Baelish so furious and/or scared that the little Lord of the Fingers decided to open his throat was irrelevant to Ned, all that he cared about was the fact that he was denied the pleasure of killing Baelish himself either through beheading, or the aforementioned 'words induced' heart attack since Ser Ilyn (who was a mute and illiterate) had used his sword to immediately part Baelish's head from his shoulders

At least two of Cersei's bastard spawn were dead, and from the furious howls of Cersei he knew she had been informed of the matter and Ned took a particular loathsome pride in the fact that all of her dreams of seating a Lannister bastard on the throne were about to come crashing down. Then Robert returned. . .dead. Apparently a rider had found Robert and his hunting party to inform the King of the death of both his sons and Robert had promptly ridden back to the capital, riding his horse so hard and fast that when the beast suddenly collapsed Robert didn't stand a chance and died on the spot as the great charger broke his neck and caved in his chest, a mere hour later Cersei had finally given birth and he was allowed into her chambers shortly after.

Though she was obviously tired and grief stricken she still managed to look not only perfect, but also smug and condescending at the same time.

"It's over," he told Cersei who merely replied by raising an eyebrow. "I know about you and Ser Jaime, and the laws of inheritance is clear, Myrcella can not inherit before Stannis or Renly."

Cersei laughed, as if he had told her the funniest jape in the world. "A son comes before his uncles Lord Stark," she told him smugly.

Ned almost spat at the floor in disgust. "If you think for one second that the Realm will rally to a Lannister bastard babe you are sorely mistaken."

Cersei's grin grew wider. "I think that when everything becomes clear you'll support my son's claim before either Stannis or Renly," she told him smugly.

" _Never_ ," Ned hissed. "I'll let you leave the city before I inform Stannis, I'll not have the blood of children on my hands if I can avoid it."

"I had another offer in mind," she said. "You'll serve as Regent while my father will take the position of Hand of the King."

Ned almost laughed, how delusional could the woman get? "Why on earth would I accept this?" he asked.

Instead of replying Cersei picked up her now only living son and carefully placed him in Ned's arms and Ned almost collapsed, both in despair, shock and fury all at the same time. For perhaps one second he'd thought that Robert had finally managed to place a babe in her after all, but more close scrutiny told a different story. While the child may have his mother's emerald orbs as eyes, the somewhat curly raven hair, long face and wide grin was _pure_ Jon. " _How,_ " he whispered.

Cersei's face was almost splitting in two from her amused triumphant grin. "I'm sure I don't have to explain to you who have sired five children on how babes are made," she said drily. "All you need to know is that Lord Jon had me over a barrel so to speak, so I. . . sacrificed one night, which turned out to be no sacrifice at all, in return for his favour in a matter that is and will remain private."

Ned slumped, he _had_ to go along with the plan now. He had forsaken his honour once by promising Lya to protect Jon, and he could no more allow Lya's grandson, Jon's very own flesh and blood be murdered than he could allow Jon or one of his own five children be murdered. "Fine," he grumbled. "Bu I will have a few concessions of my own, amongst them will be the members of the Small Council, I'll not have it filled with Lannister lickspittles, nor will I stay here in King's Landing without at least a thousand men at arms whose loyalty I trust."

"Done," Cersei told him, almost causing Ned to raise his eyebrows, ' _that was easy,'_ he thought.

"I'll be back within a moon's turn," he told her as he laid Jon's newest misadventure back in his crib.

"What?" Cersei asked, "Where are you going?"

"First," Ned said as he raised a finger. "I'm taking a ship north to gather enough men to bring with me back south, and then I'll stop by Moat Cailin and either murder my nephew or beat him within an inch of his life so that he may _finally_ learn some respect."

"Ahh," the sudden look of understanding and sympathy on Cersei's face was more disturbing than anything he had ever experienced, and he'd listened through Maege Mormont's drunken tales of getting fucked by a bear. "Good luck on your travels Lord Regent, and be back soon."

"Oh I will," Ned muttered, "And it's Jon who should pray for luck, not me," and then he walked off towards the port. Jon had a _lot_ to answer for, and by the Old Gods and the New, he was going to _fucking_ listen this time, if only Ned had taken the Black instead of agreeing to become hand things would be so much easier, why Robert may have even found someone qualified for the position, after all not even Robert was stupid enough to appoint someone like Jon or Tywin to the position. . .


	7. Chapter 7Omake 4 the Kingmaker

**The premise of this story is that Barristan and Robert were not so gravely injured during the battle of the Trident, so both arrive in King's Landing along with Ned Stark and Jon Arryn, as a result, shit happens.**

 **Omake 4: The Kingmaker.**

"The road ahead is clear, Stannis will become King in Robert's place," Barristan was still in somewhat of a daze, but he was coherent enough to recognise the voice of Erryl Estermont, the uncle of Robert, Stannis and Renly Baratheon.

The reason for the fiery argument in the throne room of the Red Keep was in Barristan's defence only partially his fault. After he was disarmed and nearly bludgeoned to death on the Trident Barristan had surrendered, if only for the chance of maybe serving a purpose at a later time. His Prince was dead, as was both Ser Lewin and Ser Jonothor, and he'd serve no one by fighting on when he was without a weapon and with five strong northmen atop of him.

So he'd followed the army of rebels, consisting of northmen, riverlanders, knights of the Vale and the few stormlanders Robert had managed to flee with after his defeat at Ashford. What had met them turned his stomach. He'd seen and committed atrocities during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, but the sight of King's Landing half aflame, with Lannister soldiers still in the process of raping, burning, looting and murdering men, women and even children was a carnage unlike any he had ever seen.

While Robert Baratheon seemed mostly careless of the atrocities, Ned Stark for all that he was a rebel seemed to have some honour to him, and dispatched the majority of the Stark and Tully men to quell the Lannister men, by swordpoint of necessary and pen them all up in a camp outside the city, while the rest of them rode for the Red Keep.

When they arrived at the Red Keep it was all over. Aerys, to Ned Stark's fury was dead, murdered from a stab in the back by Ser Jaime Lannister who had paled upon spotting Barristan from where he sat atop the Iron Throne, his golden sword still drenched with the blood of the King he had sworn to defend. As Robert and his allies entered the throne room proper Ser Jaime had joined them, seeing no other choice.

Mere moments after Tywin Lannister appeared, his brother Kevan by his side, and two kights, one of them a short piggish man with a black manticore as his sigil was grinning while drenched in blood, and the other, a monster of a man, over eight feet tall and clad in massive plate followed. "All hail King Robert," Tywin said as he stopped before Robert. "A gift from me, as a show of fealty," Tywin continued as he gestured to his two knights who laid three dripping bundles at Robert's feet, and Barristan had gulped loudly as he saw that the three bundles of Lannister cloaks were dripping with blood. One was large enough for a grown woman or a short man, while the other two were undeniably those of a young child and a babe, Barristan had felt sick.

Robert himself unveiled the cloaks, revealing one macabre sight after another. The first was that of a babe, a few tufts of silvery hair was all that was left to identify Aegon Targaryen, his face and most of his head had been smashed into an unrecognisable pulp. The next was that of his sister Rhaenys, and Barristan had felt his heart break at the horrified face, the trails of tears from her eyes still evident on her cheeks, while her chest and belly was _covered_ in stab wounds, half a hundred to be sure. The last and biggest bundle was that of Princess Elia. Her own expression was vacant in death, as if she had died long before the stroke that had almost split her in two fell, and Barristan felt his fury rise even further as he spotted the seed still oozing out from between her legs.

"What matter of travesty is this?" Ned Stark had hissed as he clenched the huge cleaver of valyrian steel his family insisted was a greatsword in his hands.

"Cementing my loyalty to King Robert's cause," Tywin said simply.

"Robert," Stark said through gritted teeth. "Surely you cannot abide by this, they were mere children, babes still at the teat," he finished with a roar as he glared at Robert and Tywin.

"I see no children, only dragonspawn, who got what it deserved" Robert said as he spat on the corpses, while at the same time Tywin said, "Filthy incestridden blood."

The next moment was still a haze to Barristan and he'd been one of those to act. The moment Robert's spit hit the corpses and Tywin finished his own mockery, Barristan had surged forth, drawn the longsword sheathed at Lord Stark's side and lopped off Tywin's head, before he could do more he turned at the sound of panicked gurgling, the reason for the noise evident as he watched Robert on his knees with Ser Jaime standing above him, a look of pure disgust on his face while Ser Jaime's golden sword was buried in Robert's throat. A roar of fury from behind Barristan made him turn again, only to spot both of Tywin's knights dead on the ground while Lord Stark held his family sword in shaking hands, not even the giant's heavy plate a match for the ensorcelled blade.

And then the arguments started. Kevan Lannister called for Barristan's head, the stormlords called for Jaime's head, Lord Arryn cautioned everyone to calm down, until eventually Lord Eddard marched over to the Iron Throne and drove Ice right into it, causing everyone to quiet.

"I came for justice for my murdered father and brother," he said darkly. "Thanks to Ser Jaime I now have it. For me the next thing is to find my sister, until I have Lyanna back I will swear fealty to no man, and anyone who tries to keep her from me will be my enemy."

"I agree," Barristan said as he spoke up for the first time. "Lady Lyanna's disappearance was one of the embers that started this war, it is only right that we find her now."

"And who is to become King?" Kevan Lannister asked surly, "Who will give me justice for my murdered brother?"

"And who will give justice to the thousands who were raped and murdered when your brother entered the city under a banner of **peace**?" Barristan roared back as he drew his sword. "I am half of a mind to start with you Lord Kevan," he added, causing the Lannister to pale.

"A Grand Council can be held at a later date," Jon Arryn said diplomatically.

"What about the siege of Storm's End?" another stormlord questioned.

"Lord Tyrell will maintain the siege," Barristan said, "But he will allow for food to be brought into the castle, his purpose for the nonce will be to make sure that no more armies converge on King's Landing."

The rebel commanders whispered furiously back and forth for a moment. "Agreed," Jon Arryn said at last.

"And who will command the city?" Alliser Throne, the sole remaining Knight who had been part of the defence of King's Landing asked.

"The city itself will be held by Lord Arryn, providing he is willing to here and now swear that Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys will be allowed to return and be safe here in the Red Keep with men of the Queen's choosing near her."

Jon Arryn did not hesitate at all. "Providing the Queen will agree to the choices the council makes after the situation has been resolved I will honour this agreement."

And so Barristan, who had wanted nothing more than to go to sleep had tried his best to make sure everything went about smoothly. Ned Stark who had at first wanted to execute every man in the Lannister army or send them to the wall for their heinous actions had finally, after much arguing agreed to let them leave back to the Westerlands, though not how they would have like. Every soldier was thoroughly searched, and were not permitted to leave with so uch as a copper ring, let alone swords or gold, a few hundred valeknights and riverlanders would be escorting the army of murdering, thieving rapists to the Golden Tooth, from there they would be left alone. The Lords themselves would remain as 'guests' in King's Landing, not prisoners in the sense that they were free to walk about, but no weapons and they were kept under guard.

He had dispatched a raven to Dragonstone to inform them of the fact, and then another to Mace Tyrell where he outlined the new terms that the Tyrells were to permit Lord Stannis and his garrison to receive food, and then he rode south with Ned Stark and four hundred men. Just how Lord Stark had managed to get the spider to reveal the location that Lady Lyanna was hidden he never found out, but the spider certainly knew his stuff.

A solitary tower, a few days ride away from Starfall and they found his brothers, Oswell, Arthur and Gerold, their swords held ready in the face of the small northern army.

"Barristan," Gerold said. "I had not thought you to be a traitor."

"Aerys is dead," Barristan said, "As is Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon."

"And so they are," Oswell agreed.

"Why aren't you here and not on Dragonstone protecting the Queen and Prince Viserys?" Eddard asked.

"The Kingsguard stay with the King," Gerold said.

"What?" Barristan asked, though he had a sinking, sneaking feeling that he knew what was going on.

"Where is my sister," Eddard snarled.

"Lord Commander," Barristan cut in, before things evolved into bloodshed. "Is it safe to assume that Rhaegar had a son by Lyanna Stark? A son whom you are protecting even now?"

"Why do you ask the questions to which you already know the answer to?" was the reply he received from Ser Gerold.

"By now," Lord Eddard started. "By now the Queen and Prince Viserys will be back in King's Landing, a great council will be held, please Sers, I just wish to see my sister."

Ser Gerold's face remained as impassive as stone as he studied Lord Eddard for a long moment before his features softened ever so slightly. "Just you Lord Stark, and leave your arms with your companions."

It felt like Eddard Stark was gone for hours, leaving Barristan and the remaining northmen to talk amongst eachother or like Barristan simply keep silent, Sers Arthur and Oswell who had not accompanied Gerold and Eddard into the tower both stood still as statues, their swords still held ready. Eventually Eddard Stark returned, heartbroken, tears still streamed down his face, and Barristan knew why. In his arms Eddard held the still form of his sister while Gerold himself looked tired standing next to the heartbroken Lord, accompanying them was a woman of what seemed to be dornish origins holding a dark haired babe close to her chest.

"Ned," a large northman, an Umber from his sigil asked, as he hitched a breath upon laying eyes on the woman the Realm had bled for.

"A lie," Eddard sobbed. "It was a lie all of it."

"Ned, surely you can't mean, we all heard the tales," another northman said, this one was a man Barristan knew somewhat, William Dustin of Barrowtown.

"A lie," Eddard confirmed again. "No one knew who told Brandon that Lya had been kidnapped and raped."

"I know," a brown haired northman growled. "IT was that Baelish fellow," he explained further. "You know, the sickly little boy who challenged Brandon for Catelyn Tully's hand."

Cold burning fury shone in Eddard's eyes. "He _better_ have a good explanation if he wishes to keep his head," he snarled.

"What now then?" asked the Umber Lord.

"Now we ride for King's Landing," Eddard said tiredly, "And then we'll see."

By the time they returned to King's Landing the city seemed ready to explode. The dornish were all baying for blood, understandable with how they had last their Princess and her children, most like Elia and Rhaenys both would have become Queen at some point, while Aegon would undoubtedly become King after Rhaegar.

The Lords of the Westerlands were still demanding justice for Tywin, the stormlords the same for Robert. The revelation that Rhaegar had one last legitimate son, the wedding and birth of his and Lyanna's son undisputed through impeachable witnesses in the Kingsguard, Princess Lyanna's own words to Eddard Stark, and even records from the Citadel further enflamed the situation.

"Viserys is the right choice," Mace Tyrell told the other Lords of the small conclave they had gatherd, consisting of Queen Rhaella, Prince Doran, Eddard Stark, Jon Arryn, Stannis Baratheon, Mace Tyrell, Lucerys Velaryon, Hoster Tully, Kevan Lannister who was standing in for his nephew Tyrion, Lord Commander Gerold Hightower and Barristan himself who was invited by the Queen for his efforts in trying to forge a peace.

"The North has lost too much in this war to see Lyanna's son be set aside just like that," Eddard said, all of his Lords having said the same, they all wanted justice.

That caused a new round of bickering, insults and threats alike thrown around like bad meat. "Enough," Rhaella said tiredly, she alone remained seated, no doubt due to her ever expanding belly. "To me it is clear, a son comes before his uncle, and people can say what they want to, the marriage, and offspring of Rhaegar and Lyanna is perfectly legal, there is after all a precedent for such in Targaryen customs."

"This is an outrage," Doran said coldly. "Elia and her children, all murdered because of Rhaegar's folly."

"I did not say that Dorne would not be rewarded," Rhaella said, not unkindly to Doran. "You have a daughter do you not my Prince?" she asked, causing Doran to nod stiffly.

"She is but six years older than Prince Aemon, so I propose a marriage between the two, as s small reparation for all that you lost."

Doran's eyes widened slightly. "Go on," he said slowly.

"Princess Arianne and Prince Aemon will be wed on his fourteenth nameday, before that time, I as regent will approve of him fostering a year in Sunspear, providing you guarantee his safety. . .we wouldn't want anything to happen to him."

"Now hold on a moment," Eddard said. "He is my nephew," he said angrily.

"A fact which I have not forgotten Lord Eddard, you yourself will also be permitted to foster the Prince for a year."

"I. . . agree to these terms," Doran said at last.

"Does anyone dispute this?" Rhaella asked coldly, and Barristan marvelled at the steel that he had never before seen in the normally kind and gentle woman.

Eddard Stark, Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn agreed immediately, Mace was a bit more surly in his agreement, and Barristan imagined that the reachlord had desired a different outcome, such as his daughter Margaery wedding the future King, Lord Velaryon didn't even need to be asked, his support of the Queen was unquestioned. The only conceivable problems were the Lannisters and Stannis Baratheon.

"And what is to happen to me and my brother?" Stannis asked bluntly.

"You are the son of my favourite cousin," Rhaella said gently, "Furthermore you did nothing but defend your home. Providing you bend the knee, the crown will forgive you."

"Then I agree to the terms," Stannis said. "And I will swear my fealty to the rightful King, both now, and again when he comes of age."

Things went much smoother after that. Kevan agreed to serve as region for Tyrion Lannister until he came of age, Tyrion himself would be a ward in King's Landing to ostensibly forge closer ties to the crown, yet all knew that it was as a hostage. Cersei Lannister would be wed to a Lord of Rhaella's choosing at a later date.

Rhaella would serve as regent for the King until his majority while Doran would act as Hand of the King, with Prince Oberyn running Dorne in his stead. Lucerys Velaryon would continue to serve as Grand Admiral, while Stannis would be given the post as Master of Ships. To further appease the former rebels Jon Arryn would serve as Master of Laws, while the position of Master of Coin went to Lord Wyman Manderly at Lord Stark's suggestion, Hoster Tully was rewarded by having his brother Brynden enter the Kingsguard. Joining Brynden was Ser Mark Ryswell, Jon Connigton whose family lands were restored and gifted to his cousin Ronald Connington. Speaking of the Kingsguard, Ser Jaime, after explaining thoroughly as to why he had killed Aerys was the first person to be dismissed from the Kingsguard. He was allowed to keep his life, but had to forswear any claim to Casterly Rock.

Mace Tyrell was appeased by the simple act of permitting him a position on the Small Council in an advisory capacity, while Varys was retained as Master of Whisperers, while Grand Maester Pycelle was executed after heavy interrogation made him admit to working for Tywin for years, among the numerous crimes he admitted to were; Poisoning Rhaella to make her miscarry or even kill her children in infancy in the hopes of letting Tywin get his daughter Cersei wed Prince Rhaegar, convincing Aerys to open the gates of King's Landing to Tywin and informing the Lannister men where Elia and her children were hiding, and most damning in the eyes of not only the Queen but also every other Lord, he told the truth of how the Citadel had been behind the destruction of the dragons, the Tragedy of Summerhall, and of how the various Maesters routinely spied on the Lrods they were sworn to serve, and occasionally 'deadling' with a problem with poison or other means, he even admitted how Winterfell's Maester Wylis had started the whole 'Stark/Tyrell/Baratheon/Arryn' alliance had been made for the sole purpose of wiping out House Targaryen, the plan failing somewhat as the Citadel had also wanted to get Houses Lannister and Martell in on the alliance.

While tired of war the now reunified Westeros struck back, all Maester's were arrested and placed in gaols while the main army, lead by Ser Barristan took the Citadel itself. At Rhaella's command everything was confiscated in the name of the infant King and taken to Dragonstone to be carefully studied by loyal men. Eventually a new order of MAester's would be emplaced, in order to deal with ravens, administer medicine as such, but the dreams of the Maesters to create a world in where they pulled all the strings was smashed asunder as they were kept under heavy constant watch. Some, who had actually remained loyal to their Lords were permitted to continue in the role they had enjoyed previously, but the majority were executed or sent to the watch. Books and scrolls were either copied and sent back to the Citadel where the new order was already being formed, or in cases such as dragonlore, hidden magics or other secretive material was retained on Dragonstone, the results of the Maester's long hidden campaign against the Targaryens were given proven when on King Aemon's third nameday the Queen hatched two dragons, one, the bigger of the two, nearly all black with hints of blue was given to her grandson the King, while the smalle white and gold one was given to her own daughter Daenerys, whom had nearly cost the Queen her life when she was brought into the world.

 **AN/: Well this ran away from me. As you can see, pretty AU, what would happen afterwards? Would the Greyjoys rebel? Would there be peace, or would perhaps Viserys pull a Renly and ally with the Reach in order to take the Iron Throne? I've no idea, and I doubt I will write more off this.**


	8. I apologize for this in advance

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognisable here.**

 **THIS…this is what happens when your best mate who has been cleverly plying you with whiskey and weed all night challenges you to do a songfic based on the 'Bloody Wolf' verse…bloody fucking bastard. Though I am surprised at the amount of strange bullshit my mind can summon when I am stoned and drunk.**

 **So imagine this as a song sung by a few poor northmen or riverlanders trapped somewhere holding a castle while Jon is off god knows where doing gods know what.**

 **I'd tell what song this is based on but lets face it, if you don't know this you should feel ashamed and get on the nearest feelbus to try and catch up with the 90s.**

What would Lord Jon Stark do

If he was here right now,

He'd make a plan

And he'd follow through,

That's what Lord Jon Stark would do.

* * *

When Lord Jon Stark was in the south,

fighting for the truth,

He swung his sword and killed Clegane,

While wearing a blind fold.

* * *

When Lord Jon Stark was on Bear Island,

Fighting grizzly bears,

He used his magical fire breath,

And saved the maidens fair.

* * *

So what would Lord Jon Stark do

If he were here today,

I'm sure he'd take a heard or two,

That's what Brian Lord Jon Stark do.

* * *

I want the Lannisters to leave,

They have made oh so very hungry.

And I just want Lord Jon Stark

To stop fighting everyone

* * *

For Lady Sansa I'll be a rebel, too,

Cos that's what Lord Jon Stark would do.

And what would Lord Jon Stark do,

* * *

He'd call all the lads in town,

And tell them to unite for true

That's what Lord Jon Stark would do.

* * *

When Lord Jon Stark travelled through time

To the time Conquest,

He fought the evil dragon king

and saved the North again

And when Lord Jon Stark built the pyramids,

He killed the slaver scum.

* * *

Cos Lord Jon Stark doesn't take shit from an-e-y-body

So lets all get together,

And unite to fuck the south,

And we'll save Arya and Sansa too,

Cos that's what Lord Jon Stark do.

And we'll save Arya and Sansa too,

Cos that's what Lord Jon Stark dooooo,

That's what Lord Jon Stark do.

 **I am truly sorry for this…but you know how it goes. Dares given/accepted when stoned and/or drunk HAVE to be followed through.**


	9. Omake 6 The Last Dragon sneakpeak

_**Omake 6 skyrim crossover.  
**_

 _ **Disclaimer: as always anything you recognise does not belong to me.**_

Jon woke with a gasp. The last thing he remembered was Olly plunging a blade into his heart, and yet, looking down he was stunned to see no evidence of the multiple stabbing he had received. His black leathers were whole and unstained by blood. Gingerly opening the outer vest, he drew his woollen shirt up. _'This makes no sense,'_ he thought to himself as his hand traced the scars that had not been there before, each of them an angry red, but healed, a true testament to each dagger that had plunged into him. Shaking off his confused thoughts he gazed around himself in; at first wonder, and then with resignation. "Even in death I'm surrounded by snow," he grumbled as he drew his fur cloak tighter around himself.

It was true. While he didn't recognise anything around himself it was _obvious_ that he was in something resembling the North. Thick snow about a foot deep covered everything he could see. A heavy gale brought not only snow from the skies, but also whirled up loose snow from the ground. Not at all unaccustomed to a snowstorm Jon just started trudging forward in the general direction of 'not here' while doing his best to figure out his current situation. Beside the feeling of betrayal at his own men, and even Olly of all people murdering him, the biggest emotion coursing through him was confusion. While never particularly religious, he still expected. . . more than, whatever this was. For that matter, if he was dead and in the afterlife, why did he feel so damn cold? Sure in normal circumstances anyone would feel cold in the current climate, the altitude also adding to the cold, as from the multitude of mountains wherever he turned his gaze he knew that he wasn't exactly at sea level, but if he was dead, should he feel these things? For that matter, if he was dead, should he even feel hunger or thirst? Because Jon's stomach was quite insistently reminding him of the fact that he required sustenance, and the cold air had long since dried out his lips and face. Also, why was he alone? He, like most people he assumed hoped, or believed that he would be reunited with his loved ones when he died, and yet here he was, all alone, and trudging through heavy snow.

He didn't even know how long he trudged through the snowy wilderness he was in, all he knew was that day had turned to night, that and he was cold and hungry. He had spotted a deer in the distance that bolted long before he could get close to it, and even if he had, what would he use to bring it down? Longclaw was still in his rooms when he was murdered, and he had neither knife nor bow on him either, perhaps he would luck out soon and find something edible, but he doubted it. Looking up at the clearing night sky he received yet another shock. Any doubts he had about being alive and somewhere in Westeros disappeared. There, in the night sky was not one but TWO moons. The larger of the two was red, while the smaller one was grey, much like the moon in Westeros. It was when he was gazing up at the new phenomenon that he encountered others.

A column of riders and carriages, guarded by men in uniform steel and leather armour he had never seen before, most of them wearing red capes or cloaks of some king with golden imagery to ward of the cold. The residents of the carriages meanwhile were dressed in predominantly leather and chain with blue cloth, that and they seemed to be prisoners. Before he could even decide what to do, a pair of riders spotted him and broke out into a gallop towards him. As soon as they got close he spread his arms. "I am Jon-" was all he had time to say before he lost consciousness, thanks to the wooden mallet in the arms of one of the riders.

* * *

"Oh my head," he groaned after returning to the land of the living? Like the prisoners in the carts he was also one it seemed. His hands were bond by thick leather cords.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there," the man across from him said as he pointed out the emaciated brown haired nervous man beside him.

Jon inspected the man before him. Long dirty blonde hair and beard, a decent amount of muscle. If it hadn't been for his strange accent Jon could easily have thought him to be a northerner. His words however, Border? Imperial ambush? The only Empire Jon knew of was the Valyrian Empire, and that had perished in fire and ash over four centuries before he was even born. Before Jon could try and collect his thoughts the apparent horsethief spoke his mind. "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell." More words that Jon had no reference to, Skyrim, Stormcloaks and Hammerfell! He was starting to think he had hit his head harder than he thought, or if he was really lucky this was all some horrid dream, the horsethief wasn't done though as he continued to complain. "You there. You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

The blonde one who had spoken to Jon first let out a contemptuous snort. "We are all brothers and sisters in binds now thief."

"Shut up back there," the driver of the cart snarled over his shoulder before returning his gaze to the road.

"What's wrong with him?" the horsethief asked suddenly as he nodded to the person who sat beside Jon.

The blonde warrior almost spat in fury as his face reddened. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim", he barked at the thief whose eyes widened in apparent panic.

Jon could understand why he claimed the man to be a King. Sharp features, long chestnut brown hair and beard, dark eyes like Jon's own, and that was before Jon took note of the armour that Ulfric was wearing. A suit of dark plate, decorated with bears, leather furs, also from bears if Jon wasn't mistaken, and lastly that same uniform blue cloth that the rest of the prisoners wore. Oh yes, Jon could easily see why men would follow Ulfric, much like his own father, there was a. . . presence to Ulfric, though why he was gagged was beyond Jon.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?" the horsethief lubbered.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits", the blonde at least was man enough to accept whatever was in store for him. Jon himself was far too tired, and confused to care. He had faced death on far too many occasions, had lost far too much, and had even been murdered once already. He just didn't care any longer, certainly death at least was nothing to fear, not compared to the pain and hardships he had received all his life.

Eventually the carriage approached a walled town, its rough architecture bringing a feeling of peace and familiarity to Jon. While he was uncertain of what lay ahead, the stout walls reminded him of Winterfell. "General Tullius Sir, the headsman is waiting." A soldier on the walls shouted as the gate opened.

So they were to die after all. Jon didn't want to die, though with everything that had happened he could appreciate the irony of dying from a beheading for a crime he didn't commit, just like his father had.

"Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this," the blonde said as they stared at the man who must be General Tullius who sat on his horse and spoke to a woman. . . A tall woman, with golden skin and pointed ears. Sharp angular features. Jon pinched his thigh hard to try and wake himself up to no avail. He was actually looking at something that wasn't human, there was no doubt about it, and while the word elf was unfamiliar it seemed like seeing someone like that was hardly a novel experience for the rest of the men he shared a carriage with.

Finally the carriage stopped and they were all herded out of it, whereupon one of the soldiers took out a list and started reading up names. The first was Ulfric, second was the blonde man who Jon learnt was named Ralof of Riverwood. The horsethief tried to make a futile run for it, but was swiftly brought down by archers, the soldier with the lists then turned to Jon. "Who are you?" he asked.

Jon breathed out once before stepping forward. "Jon Snow," he said simply.

A pair of the soldiers exchanged glances, "Another Nord," one of them said, "A name like that, no way he isn't one."

"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim kinsman," the soldier said before turning to the woman in charge, and wasn't that a surprise? Jon had grown somewhat used to women fighting during the time he spent with the Free Folk, but for the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, the idea of women not only fighting, but holding senior positions of rank in organized armies was unheard of. "Captain what should we do? He's not on the list," he said.

The captain stared at Jon with narrow eyes. "He goes to the block."

The soldier sighed sadly. "I'm sorry kinsman," he said sadly. "At least you get to die here, in your homeland."

"Its not my home," Jon muttered as he was led over to where the rest of the Stormcloaks were standing, all of them watching as Jarl Ulfric was trying to stare down General Tullius.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," Tullius said as he stepped closer to Ulfric. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne. You started this damn war and now the Empire is going to put you down."

Ulfric glared at Tullius as best he could while a robed woman stepped up and started a prayer or benevolence of some kind, that is until one of the Stormcloaks had enough and strode bravely up to the block, telling the woman to 'shut up and get it over with.'

The captain at least had no reservetions at granting the Stormcloak his wish and forced his head down on the block, keeping a leg pressed down on his back. "MY ANCESTORS ARE SMILING AT ME IMPERIALS, CAN YOU SAY THE SAME?" he shouted, and then his head was severed by the giant axe of the headsman.

"Next, the Nord in the rags," the Captain shouted as she pointed at Jon.

"To the block kinsman, nice and easy," the soldier said as he gestured for Jon to step up.

Steeling himself, Jon straightened his posture and walked towards the block with a strong steady gait, wondering at the loud roar that echoed through the skies as he did so. Kneeling before the block the Captain pressed her leg down on his back, and as he turned his gaze to glare at the headsman his heart skipped a beat as a second roar came, and this time Jon knew what it was. Mere seconds after spotting the large shape flying through the air the dragon slammed down on top of a nearby tower.

"DRAGON!" someone shouted, just before a tremendous roar that clapped like thunder erupted from the dragon. Immediately the sky turned orange as clouds started twirling. Soon after blasts of fire rained from the sky, causing absolute pandemonium as houses, towers and carriages alike were smashed asunder.

The giant dragon looked straight at Jon with malevolent _intelligent_ eyes and a second shout erupted ' **FUS-RO-DAH!'** again the roar or was it voice? Clapped like thunder, but this time a blast of pure kinetic force erupted from the dragon and smashed Jon, and everyone else around him aside like ragdolls.

"Come kinsman, the Gods won't give us another chance," Ralof shouted as he dragged Jon to his feet and ran for a nearby tower.

 **AN: This was actually my first draft to 'From the Ashes', but eventually as I mulled on it all I eventually went in a different direction instead. As it is I have another...19 pieces of this, which are basically various moments in the game, that together would form a rough storyline for Jon as the Dragonborn, culminating in his eventual return to Westeros. Anyway, I'll prob have something in the account of 30-50k words of Jon in Skyrim when I finish polishing up the various bits and pieces, so is this something that you my readers would want? as in that case it would be uploaded in a story of its own. When it comes** **pairings I am unsure, though at the moment I am stuck between Lydia and Aela.**

 **As for my other fics I AM working on them, but at the same time, it is hard to do writing when plot bunnies are allowed to run free. I am sorry that it takes time, but thats the way things work I'm afraid, some time my muse just don't want to work like it should.**

 **As always read and review**

 **Daemon Belaerys.**


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